


Potential

by WhyArentIBlessd



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Domestication, Eventual Romance, Human!Smaug, Implied Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Post Series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-29
Updated: 2014-04-01
Packaged: 2018-01-06 13:30:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 29,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1107437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhyArentIBlessd/pseuds/WhyArentIBlessd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo felt the gap the journey had made between him and his fellow hobbits keenly. He longed to see mountains, to dine with elves, to take the Lakemen up on their invitation of lodgings. But that was not for a respectable Baggins, so Bilbo left his dreams of adventure for his pillow and sheets.<br/>It soon became habit for the hobbit, getting on in his years, to smoke his after-meal pipe on the trails and try to hook his smoke rings on the bare branches of trees as he wore new paths in old country.<br/>In fact, he was doing it that very night when he encountered a strange figure on the main road and heard him murmured the last thing Bilbo Baggins wanted to hear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Unexpected Guest

Bilbo spent a great deal of his time now reorganizing and deorganizing Bag End, and restoring his lovely hole to its former splendor took time. Much like the dwarves, his absence had left his home on Bag End to fall into a touch of disrepair, but a small fraction of his gold he had received for his trouble -in addition to tokens of friendship and goodwill from the dwarves that he intended never to part with- and taken care of Bag End and Bilbo's needs.

It was becoming evidently clear to the hobbit, more and more-so each day he spent settling into his familiar old routine, that the gold he'd earned would take care of him for a _long_ time, maybe even to the end of his lifetime if he bought from the right places, and that tickled his fancy.

Bilbo felt the gap the journey had made between him and his fellow hobbits keenly. He longed to see the mountains again, to dine with the good elves in their halls at Rivendell, or to take the Lakemen up on their invitation of a vacation in the shadow of the Lonely Mountain. But, of course, that was not for a **respectable** Baggins, so Bilbo kept smoking his pipe, and writing his book, and left his dreams of adventure for the counsel of his pillow and sheets.

However, as the cozy autumn spent in Gandalf and Balin's company dwindled and the Shirefolk lost their interest in "queer old Baggins", Bilbo again began to grow restless. He wanted a change, a shift in his everyday if even just slightly, and he took to promenading the Shire as the snows set in carefully like an old man' footing on the soggy spring riverbanks. He wore new paths in old country, finding new delights and places to shelter from a sharply cold gust until it passed, and wore the older paths to well that they could not be missed. It became custom for the hobbit, getting on in his years, to smoke his after-meal pipe on the trails and try to hook his smoke rings on the bare branches of trees.

In fact, he was doing it that very night when, as he passed on a longer trek and headed home, he encountered a willowy, towering figure on the main road. Bilbo hushed his footsteps behind the figure, hearing only the other person's labored breathing, and watched the traveler warily as it swayed while it walked. Bilbo frowned, his forehead wrinkling in concern, and he eyed his hole beyond them anxiously.

The traveler appeared to be venturing toward his door, the green paint pristine and bright against the white of the snow, and Bilbo took the chance to speak suddenly.

"Hello?" He called loudly, hurrying his pace and coming alongside the wobbling wanderer, "Um, hello? Do you have business here?" but the stranger paid him no mind for another few paces.

"..." The stranger turned, clearly a man by his height and stature, but Bilbo was shocked to see the man completely bared to the elements, save his first layer shirt and the wet pants clinging to his legs and the soft boots. He regarded Bilbo strangely, his eyes hidden by a wave of dark hair plastered across his face, casting shadows across his harsh cheekbones as the moon peeked out to catch glimpse of the stranger's face.

"Good Lord!" Bilbo squeaked, shooting forward as the stranger stumbled and shivering with the pale man. "You're practically naked in this weather! Where are you going like **this**?!" And Bilbo froze cold when the stranger muttered something he hadn't heard in a long time.

"...burglar..." Bilbo nearly dropped the froze forearm he'd lamely caught, nearly shocked enough to shout, and felt the cold seeping out from the inside this time.

"What do you mean, 'burglar'?" Bilbo said, his voice high and strained, "No burglars here; only **respectable** hobbits live on Bag End. Best turn around," but again the stranger only stared ahead, the green door seeming to consume his vision, and mumble the word Bilbo had longed never to hear. He wasn't ready for another one of _those_ adventures, not one with thieving and dragons.

And yet, he still managed to lead the staggering, dripping soul into his hole before his lanky frame collapsed on the rug in front of the fire Bilbo had left burning.

* * *

Bilbo worried his hands as he watched the stranger sleep, curled toward the flames contently and his face buried in his arm and the blankets the hobbit had rescued from every room. The man's shivers had slowed as they reached the warm, finally halting a few hours ago, but Bilbo was working on his fifth cup of tea and keeping his vigil.

He was no elf; healing was not his specialty, but Bilbo was doing his damnedest to keep from prodding the man with possible remedies and watched him rest instead. Bilbo twitched in his seat when the stranger sniffled once, a pathetic wet sound, and sighed tiredly. How did this strange man know him? Why was he dressed so oddly? The style was almost elvish were it not for the stark dark colouring and the rough animal hide cloth, and Bilbo couldn't place it as Laketown dress. The stranger was -entirely, from his appearance to his clothes- nothing like those in Laketown, so his knowledge of Bilbo's role in the dwarf company was odd but explainable.

Perhaps he was a traveler passing through and heard the tale, or he had heard it in his homelands; maybe Gandalf had sent him. Bilbo pondered the idea that the wizard had sent the dazed man to him as another prompt to adventure, and bent closer to him on the hearth to inspect his features.

He'd buried his face in the blankets Bilbo had draped around him some time ago, and all that was visible now were his forehead and the tousled mass of thick curls that had dried in the heat of the flames. They curled and rolled like the waves Bilbo had seen crash in to swallow Smaug the Terrible from sight years ago, brushing the tips of his ears, and Bilbo swore if he stared long enough that the reddish-brown locks glowed in response to his attentions.

' _Strange..._ ' Bilbo thought. ' _how it glows in the firelight. It's almost like_ ' Bilbo stood up quickly, suddenly dizzy, and he hurried into the kitchen to busy himself and his mind. ' _like dragon scales._ ' As Bilbo began shuffling around his kitchen, raiding his pantry for things to make or meals he could prep for, his mind conjured the image of the beast up from the dark and he was again young and sheltered.

The glittering gold, piles and piles of coins and cups and rows of swords and mail, and the Great Dragon's scales that seemed to glow from within with light the colour of sunsets filtered through smoke.

And Bilbo was awake to see the sun _rise_ that morning, a hot cup of tea from the bottom of his pot clutched in both hands, but his mind was full of treasure troves and simmering dragon fire.

"What on Earth am I doing?" Bilbo asked himself quietly as he turned away from the sunshine and returned to his hole resignedly. "Putting up some stranger in my sitting room... am I some kind of shelter? I should throw this brute right out..." Bilbo came into his room, feeling the heat from the fire on his face and arms, and sighed as he saw a shiver ripple through his unexpected guest. He pushed his robe off his shoulders before sweat could build, crossing the room and setting his empty cup down on the way, and Bilbo stooped around the stranger's nest of blankets to put another log on the fire.

"Well, little thief," Bilbo stumbled toward the flames as his uninvited guest spoke up suddenly, his voice hoarse and gravelly with sickness and cold. " **one** log is **hardly** adequate. Add another."


	2. The Satisfaction of The Dragon

Bilbo squeaked and spun, feeling the hairs on the backs of his heels scorch as he backed up against the mantle and gawked at the molten golden eyes baring down on him from the blanket cocoon. The hobbit stumbled back from the fireplace, his heels catching on the edge of his area rug and sending him crashing backwards onto is floor with an undignified yelp. "Dragon!" He managed. "But how?! I saw-"

"You saw little less than truth, thief." Rumbled the man, snuggling deeper into his blankets with delight. "My ancestors were privy to the ancient magyks long before mankind walked up on two legs. Should it not be so that I -the Great, and Terrible, and Magnificent-" Bilbo knew the man was mocking him now with the titles he had thought up in the caverns of Erebor. "inherited their knowledge and prowess?"

"I-I-" Bilbo swallowed and skittered back, his eyes flying to and from Sting upon the mantle. "Yes, oh Smaug the-" "Shut up."

Bilbo froze when the man snapped at him. "I care not for the idolations of a lying little thief."

"Oh?" Bilbo said crankily, "I remember quite the opposite on my second trip into the mountain, oh Smaug the Suddenly-Human." He regretted opening his mouth immediately, as the stranger on his heart sat up, stiffening, and crawled out of the blanket pile with his catlike eyes narrowed predatorily. "I mean-"

"You have a very **sharp** tongue, little thief." Smaug -or what claimed to be Smaug, as Bilbo had yet to find any undeniable proof to this strange man's claim- rose to stand on his bare feet, his wiry frame towering over Bilbo, and he stared down at the hobbit with a wicked gleam in his eyes. "Perhaps I should **burn** it out of you myself..." As Bilbo watched, the man's throat began to glow like a hot coal, gaining intensity, and his open mouth revealed a blast of fire readying at the back of his throat. The stranger took a fist full of Bilbo's shirt and pulled him a little closer.

"No! No!" Bilbo cried, shielding his face with his arms. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to-" Heat blasted by Bilbo's small round face and, squinting, the hobbit watched the dragon-turned-man slowly let the fire burn just past his teeth until the built-up force had dissipated.

"You are a very strange creature," He smirked, the smug satisfaction in getting Bilbo to submit undeniable as a few stray wisps of smoke faded between them. "little thief. However, this hole is to my satisfaction."

"...thank you," Bilbo wheezed, anxiety taking his breath away. The dragon-man dropped him back to the floor, straightening almost regally, and glanced around the room again.

"Therefore, I shall stay."

"WHAT?!" Bilbo hurried to his feet as the dragon-man shivered and sauntered out of the main room as though he'd lived there all his life. His feet made hardly a sound as he passed through the foyer, inspecting everything that glittered and surveying every shadow and winding hobbit-made passage. "Wait! What do you mean you'll stay?! This is **my** house! You cannot simply waltz in, threaten me, and expect to stay!"

"Oh? Can't I?" Smaug grinned, his white teeth catching the light. "I dare say those dwarves of yours were **quite** keen on the idea."

"..." Bilbo froze, unable to find a comeback right away. "That was different."

"Do enlighten me, little thief," Smaug rumbled, tracing the gold inlay of one beam with affection. "how the invasion of my mountain and the pilfering of my hoarde, or the method with which I was evicted from my splendorous home is in any way 'different'. How do your tresspasses in the name of that exiled king, Oakenshield, vary from this endeavour?" By the end, Bilbo was more than a little speechless and, clutching the pillar, Smaug had his narrowed inhumanly-gold eyes set on him again. "Do tell, little thief."

Bilbo looked down at his hairy toes, feeling a bit of shame spread through him, and he couldn't think of a thing to say in defence of the journey to Erebor or his ventures into the treasure room.

"Nothing?" The dragon turned away from Bilbo and continued down the hall. His arrogant swagger was gone and replaced with a slow, almost disappointed stroll, and Bilbo wondered what Smaug was thinking. "I thought so."

* * *

Hours later, Bag End was as silent as a grave. No kettle whistled, no music was heard, and no guests were entertained in the main room. Bilbo had holed himself up in his study, cowering with his familiar books, while the dragon-man snooped about for all things shiny and valuable in his hole.

Bilbo was at a loss -for what to do, what to say- and huddled up on his chair near the fire, staring deep into it as he puffed his pipe anxiously. He was totally unprepared to deal with a dragon, even one in human form, and in his panic he had left Sting above the fire where the dragon was making its new hoard. He was without weapons, without explanations, and the more Bilbo thought about it the faster he puffed his little pipe.

"Alright, Bilbo," Suddenly, the hobbit uncurled himself and set his pipe down, getting out of the chair. "let's go over what we know about... dragons, and we'll try to figure this out. I'm sure you have a book somewhere in this little of yours that can help..." He toddled over to his bookshelf, feeling a burst of Tookish energy, and he began to pull them off the wall frantically. He went through his maps, and his genealogies, and all the sort of books the _respectable_ Shirefolk would be expected to have. His shelves emptied themselves of the first row and, fetching his stool, Bilbo started pulling out the volumes hidden behind his more acceptable tomes.

Out he pulled old dwarf lore, even older elvish tales, a genealogy -the briefest version- of Thorin and his kin, the books Gandalf had brought him from his last visit to Dale. Even a few volumes that the king in Mirkwood and Elrond's folk had gifted Bilbo before his journey had faded from the minds of Bilbo's neighbors were selected and placed around him for use.

And so, the hobbit burn his midnight oil on the books, pouring over them for any sign or scrap of how he could cope with this unexpected guest- or better yet, remove it. But the books remained, as always, unchanged and unaffected by the problems of their bearers and told him nothing.

By the time Bilbo closed the books and had rehidden them behind things such as 'Great Smials of the Century' and 'A Bag End Genealogy of Bagginses', it was nearly sunrise and his hobbit stomach was crying rather insistently for breakfast. He surrendered to it rather reluctantly, shucking his warmer layers when he emerged silently into the hall and found his hobbit hole hot and pleasant. He found that his usual summer garb, a creamy-white linen shirt with the collar open and some slacks, was quite enough for the balmy interior of his hole.

Stepping more lightly than he had in the mountain cave, Bilbo made his way toward the kitchen and, holding his breath, snuck a glance into the main room with trepidation.


	3. First Breakfast

Smaug was nowhere to be seen and, feeling sweat cold trickle down his spine, Bilbo checked his surroundings again before he took the shortcut through Smaug's previous location to get into one of his better pantries for something eat. It was almost criminal in his mind to have breakfast without the proper selections -his eggs and bacon, and likely toast too, would have to wait until noise could be made- but the hobbit's body needed the nourishment and he was not about to deny it when he could fill himself on what needed no cooking.

"Now lets see..." Bilbo whispered to himself, tapping his chin as his eyes fell on his full larder with pride. "goat cheese, cheddar... oh, I **must** have some strawberries. And those peaches will go soft before long. Best eat those... butter- where did I leave that loaf of bread? Butter is well and good, but without bread, I might as well live in a hole in the ground."

"On the table." Bilbo nodded and hit his palm off one temple.

"Of course, the bread is on the table." Shaking himself and digging about his larder again, Bilbo sighed, "Baggins,you're losing it. You might as well be as queer as they say... eating breakfast without bacon."

"Oh, surely there could be bacon." Bilbo held the package in his hands, feeling the weight of the meat, and he couldn't dismiss it from his menu no matter the noise.

"Bacon, it is," Bilbo carefully put it on the counter and gave the eggs a longing look. "but the eggs..."

"Oh, it's been millennium since I had those little eggs. Do you have any eagles' eggs?" Bilbo snorted.

"Don't be daft!" Lifting the carton out of his larder, Bilbo nudged the door closed with his heel and licked his lips at the spread he'd picked out. "No _respectable_ hobbit eats an eagle egg omelet. Besides, where would I get eagle eggs round here?" He chuckled to himself, setting the basket on the counter with the bacon, and dusted off his hands.

"It's rather easy." Smaug said off-handedly, circlign the table with a ravenous gleam in his eyes. "You just glide on the upper air currents until they go, and dip down like a fisher bird for them. You must be quite careful, though," He met Bilbo's astonished gaze levelly, as though the method for snatching an eagle's eggs from their nest were common knowledge. "They are fragile."

"SMAUG!" Bilbo jumped nearly his height into the air, scrambling back, and barricaded himself in his larder with his back to the door. He didn't see the look of contempt with which the dragon man regarded his panic, or the roll of his golden, diamond-pupilled eyes he made when Bilbo ran for cover.

"...I did believe you were past this point, thief." He said dryly, snuffling a peach with curiosity. "Is this form really so devastatingly fierce? I knew the men of this era were homely, but-"

"You must be crazy!" Bilbo groaned, covering his eyes and pressing the heels of his palms hard into them. "What you **look like** is not the problem! There is a **dragon** in **hobbit** hole, and my sword is still **stuck** over the fireplace, and I'm **tired** , and I **haven't** even had **breakfast** yet!" Bilbo slumped against the doors, hearing them creak under his weight, but hen suddenly they splintered apart and Bilbo tumbled back with a weak cry of fear.

He was going to be eaten- or worse, scorched.

A hand caught Bilbo's collar, keeping him from hitting the floor, and he was surprised to find himself set back on his feet sort of gently. Freezing in place, Bilbo was overwhelmed with curiosity and he tried hard to resist the urge to turn around and see what the dragon was doing. There was a faint splatting noise and something dripped, and Bilbo couldn't resist.

Smaug had gotten into the strawberries and peaches, investigating the soft, furry fruit with one jabbing finger, and the orb of orange flesh he was clutching tightly in one hands dripped all down his arm. He looked up as Bilbo made an amused noise in his throat, seeming almost guilty as he dropped the ruined fruit and reached for another.

"Careful!" Bilbo chided as Smaug's human hand came closer to the fruit. "They're soft now! You can't be rough with them if you want to eat them!"

"Eat them?" Smaug regarded the fruit dubiously. "Do they taste better than they look?" He thrust the little round fruit at Bilbo sourly, dropping it in Bilbo's hands, and watched the hobbit with keen eyes. "Show me how you skin this, little thief. I wish to consume it."

"You don't." Bilbo said casually, examining the peach for any dirty spots before he licked his lips and bit into it. Immediately, sweetly sour juice burst into his mouth, some running down his chin and arm, and Bilbo groaned happily as he chewed. "See?" He managed to speak around the large bite of fruit. "You just eat it." He offered the fruit back, wiping his mouth with the back of one hand, and when Smaug didn't take it as another hobbit would Bilbo froze again with fear.

His eyes shot to the dragon-man's face, seeming indecision painted across the human features, but then dragon eyes met his and the towering man bent down to bite at the fruit offered to him. Bilbo spluttered in embarrassment at the action, not wanting to feed a dragon something he may potentially dislike, but Smaug didn't take a bite at all. His teeth sung in, meeting pit probably, and Bilbo couldn't help but laugh when he jerked back in surprise.

"What sorcery?" He growled, eyeing the fruit with hate. "It's insides are protected by a hard shell, little thief. And its flesh tastes..."

"It's a peach." Bilbo explained, turning to the drawer for a paring knife and plate. "There's a seed pit inside that you don't eat. You" He quickly cut th flesh from the pit, letting it fall onto the plate, and tossed the pit in the trash with habitual comfort. Licking his fingers, Bilbo picked a chunk and ate it happily, his stomach rumbling at the treat; he pushed the plate toward his guest slowly. "just eat the soft parts."

"If this is another trick..." Smaug warned, his throat glowing briefly as he took a chunk like Bilbo had done and put it in his mouth. "you shall pay."

But luckily for the little hobbit, he didn't pay a cent for his offer of the peach slices. In fact, he was hard-pressed to keep peaches on the plate as Smaug devoured them ravenously and set into the strawberries once Bilbo demonstrated how to eat them without getting the leafy parts. His fruits disappeared quickly into both their stomachs as the sun rose, shining into the kitchen, and Bilbo was soon making bacon and eggs-in-the-baskets for a second course.

"Is it ready yet?" Smaug asked again, licking his chops at the sight of the frying foods as he leaned over Bilbo's little shoulder. His dark curl fell forward, catching Bilbo's attention, and the hobbit started at the comfortable morning routine he'd fallen into, despite the dragon's presence in Bag End. He stared at the dragon-man, his eyes widening more and more, and Smaug stared back. "Little thief, I have come to understand that my man shape is not as homely as I was earlier predisposed to believe, but you are burning my breakfast and I do **not** approve."


	4. What Is It Worth?

After they'd eaten their fill in breakfast, Bilbo had sat at the table silently and stared off into the distance, unable to fully believe how easily he had fallen into his routine. He wasn't hosting Balin or Dwalin, or even Gandalf- Smaug the Terrible, the Chiefest of Calamities, was currently dozing in front of his fireplace with a contented expression and a belly full of food. As Bilbo watched, trying to keep calm, Smaug rolled and bared his stomach to the fire like a lazy cat in the sunshine, his head lolling back against the edge of the blanket nest he'd made.

Bilbo's lips twitched, trying to smile at the gesture, but he refused to let them.

A dragon rolling over was not _cute_ , for land's sake! Bilbo shook his head and drank deeply from his cup, contemplating a stronger sauce to add to his tea, and kept watching the dragon-man sleep.

Should he send word to Gandalf or the dwarves at Erebor? Perhaps they could help him evict the wyrm in man shape without badly damaging Bag End; he wanted his hole to remain intact. However, the more he thought about it, the less likely it became that he and his lovely Bag End would survive Thorin's attack on Smaug. Gandalf had a slightly higher success rate, given time, but Bilbo knew of no sure way to contact the wizard very quickly.

"Thief," Smaug's rumbling voice snapped Bilbo from his thoughts and he jumped on his stool.

"Yes?!" He managed, setting his cup down hard. 'Wh-What is it?" He glanced back at the dragon and, to his surprise, the dragon was staring back at him. Smaug had rolled onto his stomach again and, with his hands folded under his chin, was regarding him with something unnameable in the depths of his eyes.

"I can hear the whirring of your little brain over the beating of your heart." He claimed, narrowing his eyes slightly. "Do be quiet, thiefling."

Bilbo's mouth floundered for something to say; he tried to form a good response, but he gave up with a sigh and hurried back to the study. With the soft mid-winter light flowing in through the sole round window in the wall, the hobbit slumped into his favourite chair and gazed blindly out at the snow.

' _There is a dragon. In my house._ ' Bilbo thought dumbly. ' _I just ate breakfast with the Chiefest of Calamities_.' Rolling over the idea in his head, Bilbo reached for his pipe, only to find that it wasn't there, and he sighed deeply. He couldn't stay in his study forever; his pipe was proof enough of that. The little room was nowhere near stocked with provisions, and Bilbo sadly admitted that no _respectable_ hobbit could live in their study alone.

With that in mind, Bilbo pulled himself up out of his chair and, crossing the room, he started thinking up what he would write to Gandalf to explain the wyrm in his main room.

* * *

"And the burglar returns." Smaug rumbled, stretching out and pointing his toes. "Missing something?" The dragon lifted his hand in the air and Bilbo gawked at the pipe caught between his thin fingers. "Your little... smoke puffer, perhaps?"

"Pipe." Bilbo corrected, trying in vain to snatch it back from him. "Give it back." He tried for it once, twice, but by then the dragon was upright and holding him back at the arm's reach of his man body. He tipped upside-down and spilled the pipeweed ashes upon the green and white carpet. "Be careful!" Bilbo blurted, tugging on the bare arm holding him back.

"Oh?" Suddenly Smaug's straight arm bent and, falling with his collar against Smaug's forearm, Bilbo was nearly nose-to-nose with the dragon-man. "How careful should I be, little hobbit?"

"Certainly more careful than you are with me!" Bilbo managed, taking his pipe back sourly as Smaug fixed his gaze on him. "This was a gift from old Hamfast on his last birthday..." Bilbo righted himself, backing out of the dragon-man's reach as he pretended to study his pipe. "I quite **like** this pipe..."

"With reason, I presume." Suddenly Bilbo was lying on the hearth and Smaug had his pipe in both hands like a mother loving her child. "Fine craft," Smaug nodded, leaning back on his elbows -one of which pinned Bilbo. "and a steady hand did the engraving. However, little thief, this pipe has no monetary value. It is hardly a coin in the great dwarf halls of Erebor. I see no valuable metal or stones embedded within your 'pipe'."

"It's cherry!" Bilbo cried, thrashing vainly. "That pipe was the last bit of cherry wood the Shire's seen since the Reckoning! It's one of a kind and lined with pure silver!" He managed to push up on his hands, scowling at the dragon, and held out a hand for his pipe. "And **I** see value in it."

Surprisingly enough, a familiar weight settled in his palm.

"You elude me, little thief." Smaug lifted his elbow, stretching out languidly, and Bilbo paused as a smattering of scaled across his trunk caught the light. "It is **worthless**."

"Haven't you heard of sentimental value?" Bilbo demanded.

"No."

Sighing, Bilbo sat up and ignored the shimmering belly scales, and he got to his feet slowly.He had read about dragon spell earlier and didn't want to risk the spell falling on him.

"I'm going-" "-nowhere." Smaug caught Bilbo's shirttails and soon the hobbit was back on his bottom. "I do not trust, little thief, that you won't procure aid whilst out. We shall depart at noon, when the sun is highest."

"Noon?!" Bilbo spluttered, "That's hours away!"

"Sleep." Smaug's golden eyes slipped closed. "Throw another log on the fire, thief. I chill." Bilbo struggled to sit up, managing it after a moment, and looked back at the firm hand caught in his shirt with dismay. He had no chance to dislodge it, lest he rip his shirt or wake the beast, and as he looked around he realized he had little to do but what the dragon had suggested.

Shifting a little to get comfortable and sweeping the ashes into the fire with the hearth brush, Bilbo pulled a corner of blanket for himself and, setting a pair of logs on the fire, he curled toward the flames resignedly. If he were to sleep on the hearth, Bilbo decided he would be the warmer of the two. And he was, for as long as he was conscious.

A heat was against his back, hot as the summer sun when he was barely of age, and Bilbo's front was soothed by the flickering flames he'd set together. Bilbo relished both in the chill of winter, even underground, and he felt his body relax in the heat as he fell into sleep. His mind was away from dragons and fires and 'what-do-I-do's; it was among the adventures and back among the people of Dale, where he and the company of thirteen were celebrated as heroes and where the King Under the Mountain was the stout one who walked on two legs.

He barely felt the dragon stir, and he didn't stir in retaliation when a limb pulled him closer to the heat. He didn't see the dragon fix his lazy gold gaze on his face, or see the calculations of his worth in the dragon-man's eyes, and he did not see the flash that crossed the face of the dragon in man's form when he stirred lightly to pull the blanket around him a bit tighter.


	5. Amusing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting this tonight for Felicity Dream of FF who was the first to give a really big constructive review!

"Little thief," Bilbo rolled away from the voice, but hardly moved. "it is noon."

"Noon?" Bilbo grumbled, "My word... sound the alarm." He burrowed deeper into the blanket he'd claimed for himself and groaned wordlessly. "Leave me be,"

"Strange..." Bilbo frowned in his sleep and rolled again, uncomfortably hot, and moved not an inch. "I was under the impression nary a few hours ago, little thief, that you were eager to leave your hole for a time." And suddenly it all came crashing back and Bilbo was wholly awake, in the clutches of a dragon.

"SMAUG!" Bilbo sat up, hearing the tear of his shirttails, and he winced as he turned around to face the dragon-man. Smaug glanced at the cloth in his grasp, dropping the rags with a quirked brow, and he regarded Bilbo as you would a child; considering the dragon's age, the comparison was not far off.

"Really, thief," Smaug rose to his feet and dusted off the pants he wore. "this **does** get tiresome. Though my name is great and full of power, it would do better for you to shriek it less of it upon each waking of the day." He regarded the hobbit standing in the archway from one room to the next unreadably, placing his hands on his hips, and he cocked his head so as to accommodate the low ceiling above. "Shall you commence with your excursion then or no?"

Bilbo, righting the front of his shirt that was left and mourning the tails, nodded once mutely and hurried out into the hall for another shirt. His mind was still dizzy from sleep and, despite his surroundings, Bilbo could scarcely think of the dragon as the bigger problem at that point. His outing would be dragon-watched, and what in the name of the Shire would his neighbors think of the towering, badly dressed shadow he'd accumulated for himself so mysteriously.

He'd hardly eaten first breakfast, and elevensies was out of the question, but Bilbo debated the idea of a brief luncheon before he left. He had some bread left, and the ham he'd put on ice would make good sandwich meat. Bilbo’s stomach gurgled as he pulled one arm through his sleeve, buttoning his shirt, and fixed his collar over the edge of his waistcoat. His sleeves cinched nicely at his wrists, which gave his brief comfort in the normalcy, but the sound of his handle rattling made the hobbit flinch and he spun to see his door still firmly closed.

“Thief, I grow weary of this delay.” Smaug growled from the other side of the wood. “Are-“

“Coming!” Bilbo quickly opened his door, his eyes wide, and he bumped right into the dragon. He stumbled back a step, feeling his face heat up as he risked a glance upward. The dragon-man had put a hand to his stomach and was staring at his midsection with a grimace of disgust; Bilbo felt his neck dampen with sweat. “I’m sorry, I-“

“By the Fires,” Smaug muttered, patting his stomach. “how do you bipeds survive with such a vulnerable underbelly? It’s so…” He patted his stomach again, the flat expanse thudding faintly, and Bilbo tried not to laugh again at the utterly innocent reaction he saw in the dragon. “ **fleshy**.”

Bilbo chuckled: “We’re careful.” He tried to hide the smile –to tell himself that Smaug, the Chiefest of Calamities, was nothing to laugh at- but he couldn’t contain his Tookishness anymore. His lips broke into a smile and the brief flash of teeth as he scurried into the hall caught Smaug’s eye. “Come on, then, let’s go.”

“Do I amuse you, thiefling?” Smaug hissed, following in Bilbo’s footsteps with snakelike grace. He practically slithered in the hobbit’s shadow, looming over him, and slowly Bilbo lost his amused expression; a real wash of cold fear doused him as he wondered if he’d pushed his luck too far. “Is my man form somehow humorous to you?”

“No, no, I-” Before Bilbo could really explain himself, Smaug had hold of his cheeks and, squatting to bring his burning amber eyes level with Bilbo’s, the dragon in disguise stretched his face with a withering look. “OW, OW, OW!”

“Does it seem as though Smaug, the Terror of Dale, is within this shell to play to your whims and fancies, thiefling?!” The dragon kept pulling –back and forth, stretched and relaxed- and eventually Bilbo’s bright merry eyes were teary from the stinging pain of the harsh tugging on his face. “Do you find me **funny** , thief?! Funny **how**?” Bilbo struggled to speak between the stretches, trying to make himself understood, but Smaug wouldn’t give him time. He was too busy ranting and raving and getting himself all worked up to listen to what little Bilbo Baggins had to say.

“UWA!” Bilbo cried out when, releasing his cheeks, Smaug knocked him on his bum and he hit his head off the baseboard of the hall.

“WHAT IS SO FUNNY?” Smaug snarled, “WHAT **AMUSES** YOU, THIEF?”

“Fire-Fireside stories.” Bilbo managed. “Presents. Writing my book, smoke rings. The first summer strawberries with fresh cream, the sunshine on the Brandywine river…” He could feel himself shaking, quivering against the floor he’d so proudly kept clean, but his mouth kept running on and on like an excited child’s. “Many things amuse me, and I found that funny. You… the Terrible, the Malicious, the **Malevolent** \- finding a bump on the stomach so strange; you looked so confused.”

Smaug spluttered wordlessly, his throat glowing hot, but no fire came. He looked indignant, like a bird with its feathers ruffled too harshly, and Bilbo couldn’t help but smile again at the ridiculously human expression on his face.

“Like that.” Bilbo said honestly, pointing it out. “You looked almost exactly like that.” Smaug stared down at Bilbo, his expression frozen, and a small narrow of his eyes was all Bilbo got before the dragon-man whipped around and stalked back into the smials of Bag End furiously. The hobbit stayed down, unsure whether he could move or not. “Um… Smaug?”

“Go.” Thundered the dragon from out of sight, making Bilbo jump as his voice resonated through his halls like it had under the mountain. “Be back before last light, thiefling, or I shall hunt you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I understand that these turn up a lot shorter than they do on FF.net, but all the chapters are roughly 8KB, and I want to keep them that way. Makes me condense it into what it really needs to be and cuts out all the wishy-washy flowery stuff I try to jam in.
> 
> If you've got any pointers on Potential, I'd love to hear them. :)


	6. Most Amusing

Bilbo had taken the command to heart, not perturbed by his impromptu banishment, and soon he was coming into the village with a lighter heart. He was back on track; it felt as though he was airing of his mind of the dragon’s smoky aura, and it was amazingly freeing. The wind on his face was cool –crisp with winter in the air- and it gave him hope yet to shunt the beast from his smials yet.

“Morning, Mr. Baggins, sir!” Bilbo’s ear perked up when Samwise, the Gaffer’s son, saluted him from his door.

“Morning, Samwise,” Bilbo said, unable to resist the smile he was given. He stopped, leaning on the fence a little, “Where’s your gaffer, boy?”

“Bed, sir.” Samwise kept tending the flowers his father had planted. “He’s come down with a cold, mum says. Can’t do nothing but keep under the covers, I reckon.”

“SAMWISE!” A round woman came out of the door, drying her hands on her apron, and she eyed Bilbo warily. “Your father’s asking for you. Something about the potatoes on the north hill,” Sam nodded to her, waiting for her to go back indoors with a shake o her head, and then he returned his attention to Bilbo almost shyly.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Baggins.” He said quickly, “It’s been a good talk, but I’d better get going.”

“By all means,” Bilbo nodded and waved the young hobbit away, smirking. “best get going.” He waited for Sam to hurry inside, or to wipe his hands and clean up his tools, but the hobbit just scuffed his hels on the dirt and glanced around shyly. “Something else, Samwise?”

“Next time I take the gaffer’s time with the hedges,” Sam began carefully, sticking his hands deep in his pockets again. “could you- you know...”

“Next time, I might just be working on the part about the elves,” Bilbo winked at the young hobbit, his own hands in his pockets as well, and he turned back down toward the village. “or maybe even the **dragon slaying**...” As soon as he said it, Bilbo regretted it and quickly remedied it with a loud goodbye, hurrying down the hill into the main town with a heavy conscience.

He hoped Samwise didn’t come back around before Gandalf did.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Smaug ventured back to a window, he could see his thief talking to a smaller one and having a grand old time. He was smiling and laughing, and it looked like they were familiar with each other, and Smaug didn’t like it.

He could have been telling that little one anything, and Smaug had a sinking feeling in his stomach that he was ratting him out as his houseguest. Smaug was quick to pull on his worn man’s clothes- a tight pair of dark breeches, worn leather, and the airy cream-coloured cotton shirt he’d dug out of Bilbo’s closets.

It fit oddly, the sleeves were just past elbow length, but it draped across his shoulders and left his neck dreadfully exposed. Pulling at the strings as he’d seen Bilbo do, Smaug tried to settle the shirt back into position but failed and gave up with it, tearing the cuff of the sleeve that clung tight to him, and soon it draped over his frame more decently.

Pulling open his host’s door, Smaug stepped out into the sun, his bare feet crunching in the snow, and he scowled at a small figure staring at him in awe.

“Begone,” He barked, and the tiny round female disappeared into the same hole in the ground as the friend of Smaug’s thiefling host. She cowered in her window, her eyes wide and stuck upon him, but Smaug cared not for her stares and amazement. He turned around promptly, bracing a foot on the small bench, and he was quick to climb the hill and disappear into the trees.

He set his noise to the wind, keeping out of sight of most of the inhabitants to the thief’s strange land, and trailed him silently. He watched the thief labor down the path with a half-hearted tune on his lips, making it into his town, and slowly but surely he made his way from one stall and house to the next.

Many more of his kind greeted him like friend, offering him good he took and rejected at random, and he even gave a few of the good he accepted to those who offered him more goods. Smaug grimaced as the little man turned down a rather nice cut of meat and instead took the book, smiling gratefully, and then gave the tome away to another stall for some material that he really didn’t need.

Smaug just shook his head at the curious little man and kept watching, his eyes narrow and fixed on his host with keen fascination. What on earth was the little creature doing?

He spoke to his fellow thieves –Smaug would expect nothing less- but suddenly he went into a house and didn’t come out for a long enough time to make Smaug antsy. What was he doing? What was he saying? How much had he given away?! He left, and he went and got a few more groceries, but then he was surrounded by tiny children and those cakes he had specially requested were given away to bright upturned faces and sticky, grubby hands in a cacophony of laughter.

Smaug’s lips twisted at the gesture and he half-sneered at the little creatures as they gobbled down the cakes his host would have brought home, possibly would have given to him later. He watched the thief trundle back up the road, laden with a few less packages since the children, and soon they were back on their way towards the hole Smaug had claimed for his own.

A merrier look was on Smaug’s host’s face s he returned to his home, carrying things under each arm, and Smaug waited for him to cross into a path with trees to reveal his presence.

“Well, my little thief,” Smaug rumbled, slinking out from behind a tree and leaning on the trunk. “what quarry do you carry? Poisons, perhaps? Or did that hovel perhaps contain some manner of covert smithy to forge you some replacement for the blade resting above your mantle?”

Bilbo jumped in surprise, goose bumps erupting over his skin at the thought that the thought that Smaug had been stalking him so closely. “Smaug?!” Bilbo stammered, nearly dropping his goods in surprise. He looked around quickly, hoping no one had seen the dragon in man’s form, and stepped in amidst the tree trunks with his houseguest. “What are you doing here?”

“I was watching you, little thief,” Smaug said, his tone almost light were it not for the deep gravely rumble of his voice. “and your odd kind. What _are_ you?”

“A Hobbit.” Bilbo said shortly, not keen at having been forgotten. “I am a hobbit –you know, halfling, Shirefolk, little people- and what if someone had seen you?!”

“I would have roasted them and returned to the den with my quarry.” Smaug waved a hand and tilted his hips, crossing his arms and looking way too human. “Possibly kept it hot on the fire until your return, whereupon you most likely would have shown your appreciation by gutting it and-“

“YOU CAN’T BRAISE MY NEIGHBOURS!” Bilbo insisted, letting his packages fall and fisting his hands at his sides indignantly.

“Oh _yes_ , I can!” Smaug snarled, getting right in Bilbo’s face. “What makes you think I _can’t_ , thiefling?” He dug his glare into Bilbo’s heart, hoping he could instill more fear in the diminutive man creature, but Bilbo just held his ground and scowled back stubbornly. Smaug growled again, heating his throat, and muttered, “You try my patience, thief.”

“Well, my God,” Bilbo exclaimed, throwing up his hands. “What a crime! What do you think you’ve been doing since you _got_ here!? I may be being a bit stubborn, Smaug, but I must speak my mind. I’m sorry,”

“Apology accepted.” Smaug conceded lowly, unnoticed by the ranting hobbit.

“but you are a _pain in the neck_!” Bilbo finished, scrunching up his face and shouting. “I’ve been bumped and bowled over and bundled up and bustled about, and now you’re going to lecture me for _trying your patience_! I’m _sorry_ ,”

“Apology accepted.” Smaug chuckled, watching his little host work himself up.

“but that is absolutely _ridiculous_!” Bilbo was nearly red in the face now, shouting and waving his arms and stomping about in the snow while Smaug watched with growing amusement and delight. If his host would get so peaky every time they were confrontational, Smaug would have to pester the puny thing more often; the effort would be well worth the entertainment. “I bought eggs, and more bacon, and I even found someone who would sell me some canned peaches from the orchards last summer! Those peaches were _excellent_ , and the chickens in most coops only produce a few eggs every week! Do you know how much _bartering_ and _haggling_ I had to do to get these?”

Smaug blinked, narrowing his eyes at the packages. Bacon? Eggs? _Peaches_? Smaug licked his lips at the possibility of more foods he’d like to consume, eyeing his host as well, and slowly the creature worked himself down.

“You don’t even care, do you?” He grumbled, running his hands through his curly straw-coloured hair. “Not a single bit.” He shook his head, throwing up his hands, and he turned away from Smaug to pick up the parcels bitterly. “You just roll into my lovely hobbit hole like a storm and shake everything up! Commandeer my hearth; patronize me; eat my food; terrorize me! You just do what you want, get what you want, when you want. It doesn’t matter...”

Suddenly, Bilbo’s things were ripped from his hands and it was his turn to snarl, which rather surprised the dragon wearing a man’s skin. “Give me those!”

“Thiefling, your temper is most amusing, however my extremities have begun to feel the cold.” Smaug lifted a bare foot to reiterate. “Shall we return to the den? Or would you like to continue your tantrum here?” He shifted his weight, hefting the packages to one arm and over his shoulder, and looked at the hobbit expectantly.

Bilbo gaped, staring with wide eyes, and then looked away. “Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this chapter ran a bit longer than I'd intended. *sweats*


	7. Temper Tantrums

Bilbo sat in his chair silently, considering trying to sit out in the cold to smoke his pipe, because he doubted the dragon would let him go for another walk now that dark had fallen. His frown had been there since their argument in the trees and, despite a good three meals, Bilbo’s temper had yet to settle itself back into submission. He was ornery and contrary, and he didn’t speak; he didn’t care if he was having a tantrum –he would damn well have one too- and he didn’t care if his “houseguest” didn’t like it.

“You cannot avoid me forever, little thief.” Smaug taunted, staring at him from the floor with bright, demanding eyes. A patch of scales like shingles glittered on the small of his back, just above the waist of his pants, and Bilbo avoided the dragon’s eyes with it. He had been whining and griping and being a general nuisance since dinner, when he realized Bilbo wasn’t speaking to him –or at all, for that matter.

“Come on, thief,” Smaug pestered, rolling onto his stomach and blowing his own smoke rings as if he were mocking Bilbo’s inability to smoke his pipe. “entertain me. I’m hungry. Make something more to eat, thief.” He blew a bit of hot air over Bilbo, grinning when the smoke made the hobbit cough, but all he got was a sharp look and a sulky shift in the hobbit’s position. He refused to look at the dragon, staring out at the falling snow, and a growl met Bilbo’s ears.

“Say something.” Bilbo glanced at the dragon lounging on his hearth and blankets like some foreign prince, an arm over one golden eye dramatically.“ _Thiefling_ ,” The hobbit raised an eyebrow at the whine.

“Why are you even here?” Bilbo asked quietly, seeing the visible perk in Smaug as he finally spoke. The dragon moved his arm, staring at Bilbo on his back on the floor, no less intense and overwhelming than he had been lying on his stomach.

“Simple, really,” Smaug rested his chin in one hand, staring at Bilbo intently. “Erebor was lost to me. My riches are slipping through dwarfish fingers. As we speak, they’re coveting it and losing themselves bit by shining bit.” Smoke trailed from Smaug’s nose as he settled down deeper in the blanket nest, staring at Bilbo but not seeing him. “They’re mucking about my halls. Sorting it, and storing it, and shuffling everything about and away like some secret riches.” Bilbo’s eyebrows rose as Smaug continued. “They’ve reclaimed their home from me and, displaced, I found myself in this gruesome man shape, with its soft underbelly and its flightless arms. But I had my mind, my great wit, and the Barrel-rider from under hills and the end of a bag was yet to be named. _You_ , thiefling, seemed an excellent outlet for my newfound purgatory and it seemed quite suitable to seek out the usurper who came with that filth, Oakenshield. So I came, over hill and Dale, until I had tracked down that funny-smelling little lying thief from my treasure trove.”

“Really?” Bilbo felt a blush run across his cheeks. “Is that what I called myself?” He remembered the conversation faintly; his lies and riddles had muddled together in the terrifying presence of the red dragon, leaving him with only vague notions.

“’I come from under the hill, and under the hills and over the hills my path led.’” Smaug’s eyes shifted as Bilbo watched. He waved a hand in the air and rolled, motioning to the ceiling vaguely. “’And through the air, I am he that walks unseen. I am the clue-finder, the web-cutter, the stinging fly. I was chosen for the lucky number.’”

“I am he that buries his friends alive and drowns them and draws hem alive again from the water.” Bilbo chuckled, covering his face with one hand in embarrassment, and he heard a returned rumble. “’I came from the end of a bag, but no bag went over me.’ Oh dear...”

“’I am the friend of bears and the guest of eagles. I am Ringwinner and Luckwearer; and I am Barrel-rider.’” Smaug sat up, pushing with his arms, and Bilbo paused, smile fading. “I remember _all_ of it. You were- _are_ the most infuriating little creature when you wish it, thiefling.”

“Thank you?” Bilbo said cautiously, clenching his hands in the arms of his chair. “I mean,” Smaug gave him a dry, unimpressed look that shut him up; the dragon-man’s disappointment settled over him, leaving Bilbo wondering what he’d done wrong and what the dragon would do next. Smaug’s eyes dug into him, calculating and quick, and Bilbo ~~wanted~~ _needed_ to know what he was thinking.

“Did I say something?” Bilbo asked, unable to swallow the question down like his tea. “If I did, I’m-“ “No,” Smaug’s eyes burned. “you are not. You are afraid I will grill you as the fish we dined upon earlier; I can _smell_ your fear, thief. It is _putrid_ and _cloying_ in the back of my throat.” Smaug grimaced disdainfully at him, making goose bumps erupt all over his skin, and Bilbo needed a lot of courage to stay seated so close to him. If Smaug reached out a little, he could wrap one long-fingered hand around the hobbit’s ankle and he would be done for completely.

Bilbo hoped his letter was on its way; he couldn’t wait forever for someone to come.

“Well...” He said carefully, seeing the narrow of those gold eyes and trying not to let his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth. “you frighten me, so that is to be expected.” He couldn’t not be honest; Smaug was incensed by his timidity and it only made Bilbo more nervous, which in turn fueled Smaug’s fire and made the cycle complete.

The dragon man snorted a puff of dark smoke, looking agitated as he dropped his attention to the fire and refused to look at Bilbo. He curled up on his blanket mound like a cat, bathing in the fire’s heat, and Bilbo could almost imagine the way a cat’s ears would pin back as he took in the displeasure emanating from the dragon’s body language.

Bilbo tried to think of something to say, his mind whirring busily, but eventually he gave up and retreated into the hall with a small goodnight and a bit of a headache. He considered staying to make a cup of tea to settle himself, but he knew it wouldn’t work and he doubted Smaug’s temper would get any better with him lingering there, so he abandoned the idea as it came.

Unfortunately, sleep didn’t come as easily as the idea had, and Bilbo tossed and turned until morning came to Hobbiton.


	8. Stubbornness

It was rough morning for them both.

Bilbo, set on not humoring Smaug and his moods, did his damnedest to keep himself busy and away from his main room. He rearranged his deepest rooms, dusting and airing out every room possible, and moved ripening foods to more accessible larders for prompt use. Clothing was aired out, refolded, mothballs were changed, and closets were emptied of ill-fitting or unwearable articles with a keen eye. Bilbo knew a seamstress in town who would help take in and mend them, maybe even stay for supper, and the idea of inviting her to his home put a spring in his step.

He crossed the hall, arms full of the offending pieces of his wardrobe, and into one of his more central rooms he hoarded it all. It was a sweet enough little study; high ceiling that rolled with the hill, light-coloured decor, some good lights to provide what the skylight could not. It would be the perfect place to woo her a little more; some fragrant tea to permeate the air, perhaps a little tray to nibble on, and she would be charmed for certain.

Bilbo had never thought himself a ladies’ man, but it was a good plan and Bilbo liked it more and more as he set out the clothing carefully for later. He liked it so much, in fact, that he paid little attention to where he wandered in his hole.

“Hello, thief,” Smaug rumbled, moodily glancing over one bare shoulder at him and looking altogether unpleasant. “awake at last?” A faint haze of smoke hung in the air, making Bilbo frown immediately at what it would do to his things.

“I’ve been awake for some time.” Bilbo said shortly, coughing as another plume of smoke rose unchecked from the man’s nostrils. “Could you stop that? You’ll-“ He gave up his reason when, staring right at him, Smaug released a darker snort and made it quite clear he _would not_ stop it any time soon no matter what Bilbo said. “Fine. Be that way. _I’m_ going to have lunch.”

“What about me, thief?” Smaug grunted, throwing on a log from the dwindling stack beside the hearth. Bilbo sighed wordlessly and shook his head, padding into the kitchen calmly and assembling a few sandwiches for himself, cutting up some apple for later.

He took a seat near the fire –not too near, mind you- and dug into one half with a small, contented smile. It took a moment for his chewing to attract attention but soon, after quickly scanning the floor close to him, Smaug was watching him closely.

“Are you eating without me?” Smaug demanded, his eyes wide and his eyebrows shooting up into his messy curls.

“Dunno, let me check.” Bilbo said around a bite of sandwich, chewing it thoughtfully, and then he swallowed. “Yeah, I think so.”

“You can’t!” Smaug insisted, pushing up on his hands. “You’re not _allowed_!”

“Well, bloody hell,” Bilbo said dryly, liking having the upper hand for once. “I might go to jail for this then.” He took a good bite and groaned appreciatively for emphasis. “So worth it.” Bilbo stopped chewing when Smaug rose to his feet, puffing out his naked chest, and lifted his head.

“You- GREAT FIRES!” The man cracked his head off the slope of the ceiling, hitting it hard, and his hands flew up to cradle it as he sat back down.

Plaster fell a little, making Bilbo choke, and the hobbit struggled to swallow as he got to his feet and let the plate fall to the floor unchecked. His sandwiches spilled apart without a care, and Bilbo was quick to approach the groaning dragon-man.

“My soul!” Bilbo cried, barely Smaug’s kneeling height as he stood next to the dragon in man skin to check his head. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” Smaug grunted, clutching his head and squeezing his eyes shut as tightly as he clenched his teeth. Bilbo could see the thick vein in Smaug’s neck standing out with effort and felt his crankiness with his guest withdraw a little; that blow _had_ to have hurt.

“Come on now,” Bilbo sighed and moved a little closer. He reached out a hand toward the dragon’s head, “let me-“ and suddenly he was on the hearth not for the first time that week. The man’s hand pressed down on his throat, making his pulse quicken, and Bilbo stared up into eyes filled with dragon-like malice through a sheen of pained tears.

“Do not _touch me_ , thiefling.” Smaug growled, the glow of his throat unmistakably fire.

“I-I was just-“ Bilbo choked on his own explanation as the dragon applied more pressure. “w-worried! I-I’m sorry, Smaug, I didn’t mean to-”

“’ _Worried_ ’?!” Smaug drew back from Bilbo as if he had been burned, and suddenly Bilbo could breathe easy. He watched the dragon in man form skitter back on his hands, eyes fixed on Bilbo with feral rage and confusion obviously present. “I am a _dragon_ , little thief! What should you worry about, other than how you should please me!?” The bluster was loud and powerful, but the shaken expression was not so easily masked on Smaug’s human face and Bilbo sat up slowly, rubbing his sore neck. “I am Smaug the Terrible! Chiefest of Calamities! My claws are swords! My teeth are spears! My armour shields tenfold! My _very breath_ is death, thiefling! My wings are a _hurricane_!”

“...” Bilbo let the dragon-man wind himself with his shouting, grateful that he was farther from his neighbors than most, and gave him all the patience he possessed. God, he thought, this is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. “You were, indeed, all those things, Smaug the Terrible,” Bilbo crept a few steps closer, monitoring the dragon’s tense posture in case he might pose another attack. “but you said yourself this flesh is vulnerable... I just want to make sure you’re alright.”

Smaug snorted, one hand pressed to the back of his head again, and grimaced at Bilbo when the hobbit took another step closer. “You still have those nice manners of yours, thiefling.”

Bilbo nodded and made a noise of agreement, bending a little at the waist. “May I, oh Chiefest of Calamities? Our heads can be extremely fragile... we lack the _dazzling_ spines of your _most_ _powerful_ of forms.” Slowly, Smaug sat against the wall nearest the door, his eyes never leaving Bilbo’s bowing form, and Bilbo began to sweat that the dragon would deny him- or worse, scald him for his trouble. The golden pools and diamond pupils narrowed, making Bilbo swallow hard, and the sudden beckon of his hand made Bilbo stiffen. “The-Thank you, oh Smaug the Great.”

“Hn.” Smaug turned his eyes away from Bilbo, lifting the suffocating pressure, and the hobbit took an uneasy breath as he was given consent to approach and took it. He moved slowly and warily, not wanting the dragon to lash out, and he watched as Smaug bent his head to allow him access.

“Now...” Bilbo said cautiously, trying not to sound at all cautious. Smaug always got so angry when he was frightened, and then the whole thing went wrong. “I’m just going to touch it a little. Tell me if it hurts, will you?”

“Hn.” “Oh, would you stop it?” Bilbo grumbled, stepping over Smaug’s knee to get closer and frowning when the dragon lifted his gaze to his face. “I’m trying to help you, and you’re sitting her sulking like I’m pulling teeth!”

“I see not what you will do to aid me, thiefling.” Smaug grunted, clenching his teeth as his head continued to throb. “This is folly and a waste.”

“Oh, don’t be such a baby.” Bilbo grunted back. “Bend your head a little, I can’t reach.” To his surprise, Smaug bent his head down, letting his curls fall as they may, and Bilbo could feel the hot dragon’s breath brushing over his feet as he stood there between his legs. He set to work deftly, carefully parting tangled curls and letting his gentle fingers search the dragon’s scalp for the goose egg he presumed was there.

Smaug hissed wordlessly as Bilbo’s fingers ran over a hot patch of raised skin and the hobbit froze, feeling a hand grasp his ankle. “There.” Smaug rumbled, slowly unclenching his bruising grip, and Bilbo cupped Smaug’s head with his free hand while he traced its edge to grasp the size of the bump.

“Alright,” Bilbo said, “I’ll be right back.” and suddenly he was in the kitchen and chipping a few flecks off the great block keeping his larder cool. He packed them into a piece of linen, quickly returning, and he rested it carefully on the area of curls he’d parted to ease the pain. Smaug gripped his calf tightly, not tight enough to bruise, but it hurt and Bilbo let it because he didn’t doubt that the pain in Smaug’s head was worse. “Keep it on until it melts, otherwise you’ll have a great goose egg tomorrow.” He tried to back away, lifting his hands from the dragon’s head, but he had a fast grip on Bilbo’s legs and the hobbit was stuck.

“Keep doing that.” Smaug growled, glancing at Bilbo through a curtain of hair. “I enjoy it immensely.” He turned his gaze away, nudging Bilbo’s chest with his head, and the hobbit hesitantly brought his hands back to the mass of dirty curls in front of him. He waited a few seconds of toying with them, feeling the grip on his legs loosen but not release, to make a protest.

“I can’t stand here all day.” Bilbo said quietly, carefully tracing the bump. He expected to be released, not manipulated into sitting on the floor. He expected to be allowed to go on with his day, instead of spending his afternoon toying with the curls of a sleeping dragon. Most of all, he never expected to be given a lap full of dragon wanting to be petted and coddled while the ice melted and soothed his throbbing head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **These chapters are getting longer and longer, and everything in this story is getting so goddamn adorable! *rolls around and flails arms* I can’t even- ugh! *covers face and gurgles* I love this so much! My precious baby!**


	9. Home

Bilbo began to fear that his afternoon would become very, very long.

Pinned on the hearth, the hobbit had little to do but doze and stoke the fire and comb his fingers through the hair of the sleeping dragon. He did so carefully at first, letting his fingers just trail against his scalp, but then the dragon had insistently nosed his knee for more force. By the end of an hour and a half, Bilbo was dragging his nails through the untamable mess of curls and working out each knot by hand. In the heat of the fire, it was soft like an animal pelt or heated velvet, and –seeing as he had no other pressing matters at hand- Bilbo tried to remember the last night he’d spent in the great dwarf kingdom of Erebor.

* * *

 

“Thorin?” Bilbo looked up from his bags and chests in surprise. He and Gandalf were leaving at first light, and the hobbit had wanted to be sure he didn’t leave anything behind in the rooms he’d been given. “I didn’t hear you come in. Is something wrong?”

“Nothing,” The dwarf prince looked away, around the rich chamber, and then he fixed his eyes on Bilbo. “but it is your last night in my halls and I owe you my life, Master Baggins.”

“Bilbo,” The hobbit was quick to correct him. “please, my friends call me Bilbo.” He approached Thorin and put out a hand for the prince to shake, hoping he hadn’t made a mistake about their standing. Thorin stared at him unreadably until Bilbo’s smile faltered, and he let his hand fall slowly in the silence between them. “I’m sorry, I just thought-“

“Bilbo Baggins,” Thorin’s hot, callused hand closed around the hobbit’s, making him squeak, and he gripped it tightly. “I have never been so wrong about any man in my life. Thank you. Without your assistance, Erebor and myself would be lost. I am _glad_ to call you ‘friend’.” The dwarf prince let his tight grip fade, and Bilbo shook their joined hands once before it was through, raising Thorin’s eyebrows.

“Not as glad as I am,” Bilbo admitted, and they shared a silent moment before Bilbo cleared his throat and tucked his hands in his pockets. “but... uh, c-can I help you with something?”

“I came to give you my gift, as the others have gone to bed already. I see my sister-sons have become quite fond of you...”

Bilbo flushed at the obvious reference to the large pile of gifts, some of which he had already labeled for future reference.

“I tried to refuse, but they were quite insistent.” Bilbo admitted; his face went red as Thorin lifted a coat off the pile and traced the inlaid golden crest on the back. “I’m quite sure I shouldn’t have something like that... the crest, it is Erebor’s, isn’t it?”

“It is the sigil of a warrior of Erebor. My father’s guard bore it when he was king, and mine will bear it soon enough.” Thorin tossed the coat to Bilbo and crossed his arms over his wide chest. “Put it on.”

Bilbo barely caught it. “What?”

“Let me see it on you,” Thorin insisted, his heavy gaze weeding out Bilbo’s protests and bending the hobbit to his will. He shrugged off his usual burgundy coat shyly, careful to hang it on the post of the bed, and soon he was wrapped in the dwarfish coat. It was thick –this was surely a garment for colder weathers- and Bilbo smiled as the fur around the collar tickled his chin.

“This is... amazing,” Bilbo sighed, snuggling into the fabric. “I’ll have to thank them if I can before I go.” Bilbo’s smile fell and he pulled the coat a little tighter to hide it. “This coat is so wonderful.”

“Why not stay a few more days?” Thorin suggested, “Fili and Kili would probably love to have you for a little while longer, and Balin would be able to allot you your _real_ one fourteenth.” He was a ball of tense energy, buzzing from one place to the next, and Bilbo failed to hide his smile.

“I can’t.” Bilbo put out a hand and stopped the dwarf. “Gandalf is leaving at first light tomorrow, and he won’t be back for another _year_ , at least.

“Then stay the year.” Thorin caught Bilbo’s elbow and held tight. “Make Erebor your home, make- stay.” He stared hard at Bilbo, making the hobbit fidget and look away; his heart hammered against his ribs until he could hardly hear.

“Thorin,” Bilbo sighed and his forehead crinkled. “would you leave Fili and Kili if I asked you? Never see them again?” He watched the understanding bloom like flowers in the dwarf’s eyes. “My nephew, Frodo, he doesn’t even know I left. He doesn’t know I’m alive, or coming back, and I won’t do that to him.”

“I’ll bring him here.” Thorin promised, sitting on the bed and clenching his hands into fists. “All of them.”

“I have to go home, Thorin.” Bilbo insisted, sitting down beside the dwarf prince and patting his shoulder. “My hole in the Shire is where I belong, and I miss it.”

“Your books?” Thorin offered.

“And my arm chair, and my garden.” Bilbo nodded and laughed. “You remember that?”

“I’ll never forget it.” Thorin promised. “That meant the world to me, Bilbo. You’d still help us after all I’d said.” He locked eyes with Bilbo, scanning his face, and suddenly the soft half-smile was gone. “Sit still.”

“Thorin?” Bilbo froze as the dwarf’s fingers set into the hair above his right ear, his heart stuttering. He could feel each tug and twist, but he didn’t believe it was really happening until Thorin pulled a silver cuff from his hair and fastened the braid shut.

“There.” Thorin tucked it back over his pointed ear. “My gift to you.”

“But...” Bilbo could only watch mutely as Thorin slowly undid the plain braid in his hair. “what does- I mean,”

“I wove that as penance, a presence I could not forget, for the loss of Erebor. You were essential to its recapture, Bilbo, and therefore it stands to reason that its cuff belongs to you. In this position, you will never forget it. Or me.” Bilbo struggled to swallow; the dwarf prince had fixed him with such a fierce stare that the hobbit was frozen.

“I couldn’t.” Bilbo admitted. “Forget you, I mean. Any of you.” He looked at his pack, a longing in his chest, and then took to examining his hairy toes. “I will miss this, but not now. Now I miss home, and home is where I’ll go. I’m sorry, Thorin.”

He didn’t want to see any hurt in the dwarf’s face; he didn’t want to let himself get lost in his penetrating stare; he couldn’t change his mind on the eve of his departure; he couldn’t stay in Erebor.

He needed to go home.

“I understand.” Thorin said calmly, drawing Bilbo’s gaze. “If you are ever in need, Bilbo, even for the slightest, you may call on Erebor.” He cupped Bilbo’s head with his free hand and met his eyes again. “I will come with the might of the mountain behind. You need only call, and all of Erebor will answer, little hobbit.”

Bilbo smiled, leaning into his hand. “Thank you,”

* * *

 

When Bilbo’s mind wandered back into the Shire, Smaug was belly up and basking in both the heat of the fire and his attentions. His cat-like golden eyes were half-lidded and hazy, but they were locked on Bilbo’s face.

Bilbo shifted, glancing at the clock. “Smaug?” He spoke so quietly, fearing to wake the beast, but Smaug’s ears twitched and he focused on the hobbit.

“Yes, thiefling?”

“It’s nearly dinnertime. Are you hungry?” Bilbo gestured to the kitchen vaguely, hoping to move the dragon’s eye, but Smaug’s attention could not be diverted. “I have a few links of pork sausage in the larder,”

“Do you have any ponies?” Smaug licked his lips. “I haven’t had a nice fat pony since you and those dwarves come up to the mountain... _mmm_.” The rumble of pleasure vibrated through Bilbo’s leg, making him shiver, but he didn’t dare stop brushing the dragon-man’s bangs across his forehead.

“We don’t eat our ponies. They’re all hitched up to carts or tillers ‘round here.” Bilbo said finally, not wanting to be the bearer of bad news. “But sausage is good.”

“What about bacon?” Smaug suggested hopefully, his eyes bright and keen. “Nice, crispy bacon, and those red... some tomatoes?”

“Bacon is for breakfast.” Bilbo said resolutely. As with any _respectable_ hobbit, food and meals were a point on which he was not willing to budge. “Besides, bacon is made from the same meat as a pork sausage. You’ll like it.” His hands stilled and Bilbo saw the change in Smaug’s eye when he looked back down. “Come on now, up we go.”

“No.” “’No’?!” Bilbo repeated, staring down at the dragon in man form angrily. “How do you expect me to make supper if I’m sitting here? I _must_ get up if you want to eat, Smaug. There is no other way.” The hobbit bristled as the dragon, rolling over, buried his face in the hobbit’s leg and grumbled incoherently for a moment. “ _Smaug_...”

“You are lucky, little thief,” Smaug growled, pushing up enough to let the hobbit move out from under him. “that I lust for the foods you speak of. If not, you would continue to attend me.” He gave Bilbo a sour look, though less sour than it had been before Bilbo had tangled his fingers in his curls, and the hobbit smirked at the sudden sulkiness of the dragon.

“Of course, oh Smaug the Stupendous.” Bilbo replied, dusting himself off and sweeping the spilt lunch from earlier back onto the plate. He heard the dragon in man form snort as he buried himself in the blankets he’d pulled out on that first night, and he tried not to chuckle as he realized that Smaug had been doing the same with the gold of Erebor when they had first met. “I shall start it right away. Make yourself at home,”


	10. Bad Taste

“Is it ready yet?” Smaug’s hot breath tickled the tips of Bilbo’s pointed ears, making his shoulders tense, and soon the dragon’s heavy hands were on him. “it smells _divine_... when do we eat, thiefling? I hunger for these “sausages” you’ve promised me.”

“When aren’t you hungry.” Bilbo grinned, rolling his eyes. “It’ll be ready soon, you, so go on.”

“Come now.” Smaug murmured, his deep voice a rumbling growl reminiscent of their conversation under the mountain. “Let’s have a taste. Just _one_ ,”

“No.” Bilbo said resolutely, waving his hand as if it would clear the dragon away. “No tasting until it’s ready, otherwise it’ll be all gone by the time we eat.” He glanced back at the dragon-man, expecting some protest, but the towering form was already retreating to the main room with a sway of his hips that should have been in his tail. Bilbo couldn’t believe how easy it had been; he stared at Smaug as he settled in his blankets, chuffing softly as he kicked a log onto the fire, and then noticed Bilbo’s stare.

The dragon didn’t acknowledge him, though he had seen the hobbit watching, and Smaug took the time of rolling and settling so that the brief patches of scales across his human skin caught the firelight and flashed like coins. He liked the awe in the little thief’s gaze and, having settled himself in his soft new nest, the dragon in man form let out a tendril of soft smoke. He let Bilbo stare for a few more minutes until his nose picked up the cooking of the meat, and he perked up at the scent.

“Though your attentions please me, thiefling, you burn my feast of this “sausage” and I am hungry.” Smaug declared, slipping to his feet nimbly and took a seat at the table. He watched the red slip across Bilbo’s face as the hobbit returned his attention to the food and worked to dish it before it could be overcooked, smirking wickedly at his host’s distress, and soon they were both digging into the sausage and tomatoes Bilbo had promised. The hobbit had even managed to coerce his guest to eat some potatoes as well; in a man’s body, he’d need a man’s nutrition.

Smaug held a piece up to the light. “These sausages are like tiny fingers...” He devoured his plate quickly, unashamed of rushing it, and gave poor Bilbo his full attention again. “I approve of these sausages, but I much prefer the bacon.”

Bilbo choked on a mouthful of wine, wiping his mouth, and he tried to hide the smile that Smaug’s miffed statement gave him. He drowned the show of teeth in his cup, hoping the dragon hadn’t seen, and quickly drained the whole thing to summon some courage.

“Bacon...” He mumbled, refilling his glass. “is breakfast food, I told you. And please don’t compare sausage to fingers; I’m _eating_.”

“And?” Smaug peered into Bilbo’s empty cup curiously. “Is that good? You seem to consume it quite readily...”

“Well, it’s-” Before the hobbit could stop his houseguest, the dragon had seized the tiny glass and, sticking his tongue to the bottom, tasted the remnants of Bilbo’s wine without caution.

“UGH!” Dropping the tiny wine glass, Smaug’s face contorted miserably and Bilbo choked on his food as the dragon began simmering short flames of fire across his soft pink tongue to try and cleanse away the alcohol, only succeeding in lighting the tip and pulling a disgusted wail from the depths of his throat.

Jumping up, Bilbo panicked and tried to think of something smart to do, but everything that came to mind wouldn’t work. Stumped and desperate, the hobbit skewered a sausage and tomato slice roughly and shoved it into the hissing dragon-man’s mouth without pause. He ducked a slender lick of flame, feeling the heat singe his fingertips, and hid under the table with a squeak as his houseguest pulled himself together and choked briefly on the food.

All went silent and Bilbo, covering his head under the table, waited with baited breath for a sign.

“That was vile.” Smaug’s flushed face appeared in front of him, too close, and Bilbo’s skin crawled after the shocking sight of Smaug so enraged. “What possesses you to drink that _filth_ , thiefling?”

“It’s not that bad.” Bilbo managed, his mouth dry and seriously considering more wine. “Don’t be a drama queen.” He crawled out from under his table, standing up, and smoothed the front of his shirt down to regain his composure.

“’Drama queen’?” The dragon looked miffed. “That monstrosity should never pass the lips of any man or wyrm, no matter the circumstance. I demand you dispose of this... what _is_ it?”

“Blackberry wine.” Bilbo explained, holding up the bottle and dragging a finger beneath the label. “A gift from my cousins in what was surprisingly good taste. I quite like this bottle; it’s a good year.” To prove his point, Bilbo took another glass down for the shelf to replace the one his guest had smashed and he poured himself another. “I intend to drink it.”

“You’re bluffing.” Smaug said seriously. “You wouldn’t consume such a large amount of ‘wine’.” Bilbo felt his face get hot at the dragon’s seriousness and, scowling, the hobbit pressed the bottle to his lips instead of the glass and took a deep, long drink.

He hiccupped once, meeting Smaug’s eyes with a dose of liquid courage. “You sure about that?”

* * *

“Oh…” Bilbo grimaced as the fire flickered and, even through his closed eyelids, made his spinning head do another twirl.

“I change my mind, thiefling.” Smaug said cheekily, folding his hands on the arm of the chair and resting his chin on top of them contentedly, his bottom half covered by a fire-warmed blanket. “you _shouldn’t_ consume such a large amount of wine. It is _obviously_ unpleasant.” His deep, thrumming voice echoed in Bilbo’s wine-addled skull and, without meaning to, drew a small whimper out of his host, who cringed and clutched his curls wordlessly. “Thiefling?”

“Shhh…” Bilbo managed to make some noise, stretching a hand toward the dragon and clumsily bumping into his cheek. He glanced up from his fetal position, feeling a chill at moving from his warm ball, and blinked tearily at the blurry image of his houseguest. “Smaug, my head…” Smaug stared back at him wordlessly, his bright gold eyes shining like lamps in the delirious hobbit’s mind, and Bilbo’s lips curled slightly at the edges into a small, endearing smile. “thank you.” He shivered again, unable to settle back into the hollow of his own warmth, and Bilbo frowned sleepily to himself as he tried to curl up on the seat of his armchair and drift off.

Bilbo whimpered as another shiver rolled across him, but this time a rich, velvety rumble echoed his frail sound. “…mm?” A warm hand cupped Bilbo’s face and, even with the possibility of danger, the hobbit couldn’t summon the strength to do more than half raise his eyelids and flutter his lashes. Smaug was close- so close- _too_ close. “Smaug?”

“Sleep.” The word was almost lost in the crackle of the fire and the blood rushing through Bilbo’s warm ears. It ran over his skin like water, soaked into his brain, and Bilbo nodded weakly in agreement as the large hands lifted him up and golden eyes looked him over.

“Mhm…” He mumbled, letting his head loll as the dragon in man form pulled him down out of the chair gently, making almost no sound, and swaddled him in a blanket. He felt fingers brushing too hard against his scalp, pulling and tugging at the inevitable snarls his hair always turned into by the end of the day, but he couldn’t think of a protest.

Everything was so warm.

“Good, thiefling,” The rumble returned, rolling through his chest like an oncoming storm through the sky and Bilbo sniffled faintly. “sleep.” The hobbit felt the arms sweep him up –felt the larger body cocoon itself around him and his blanket, really- and didn’t mind at all. The dragon radiated the heat that came from the fire and, after a few seconds and a roll, Bilbo was facing away but surrounded by warmth.

Smaug smelt like fire and decay. Sweet decay, like the leaves in autumn, but hotter and crisper.

“Sleep, and dream.”


	11. Bothersome

Bilbo was surrounded by soothing, searing heat. It had sunken into his bones some time ago, burning away the chills that had sought to make camp there, but now it was burning through him slowly like some kind of pleasant torture. The hobbit shifted uncomfortably, but some enormous limbs were enough to pin him under the blanket and to the floor.

“Nnngh.” Bilbo groaned, wriggling in the confines of his sheets. “hrrk. Ugh-” He froze; a shattering headache rocked his world, making him curl up tighter against the wall of immovable heat. “oww...”

“Thiefling?” Bilbo’s world shifted, uncoiling and suddenly he was free. Cracking open crusty eyes, the hobbit saw his dragon houseguest looming over him in the light of the dying fire. His face caught the shadows like a trap and it gave his features a harsh outline of pitch black.

In the boozy, delusional fog, Smaug’s eyes seemed bottomless.

“Oh...” Bilbo flinched when a log broke and closed his eyes tight. “shhh.” His head throbbed like a second heart, pounding against his skull for release, and it felt like the bone was beginning to split. “What’s going on?”

“We were _sleeping,_ ” Smaug murmured, settling down on the floor and staring at him keenly. “however, you grew restless and woke me.”

Bilbo grunted wordlessly, clutching his head with both hands, and he sleepily tried to comfort himself by stroking the backs of his pointed ears. “My head hurts...”

“Sleep,”

“The floor is haaaard...” Bilbo whined, letting his arms go limp. “I need to go to bed...”

“And _what_ do you think _this_ is?” Smaug rose to his full height, his eyes lit, and spread his arms wide to gesture to the mass of coverlets, quilts and throw pillows. Bilbo sat up woozily, holding his head, and examined the pile; all the guest beds had obviously been stripped, his as well, and each shiny coverlet was face-up and glistening in the fading fire.

Pillows provided support and stability, a little circle to contain it all, and Bilbo soon realized that it wasn’t all that uncomfortable. He was warm, and cozy, and the pile felt safer than his bed did sometimes; there was no possibility of falling off it now.

Bilbo looked back up at Smaug, looming and simmering in the silence, and he felt his head spin again. The man-shaped dragon was trailing smoke from both nostrils, looking both annoyed and anxious, and a loud snarl made a puff of black hide his face.

“Well, thiefling?” He rumbled, leaning forward until his belly scales –the few patches he’d retained- caught the light.

“A nest.”

Smaug practically dove down into the covers, burying himself in them like it was gold beside the hobbit, and chuffed: “Exactly.”

“’Exactly’? What?” Bilbo’s poor mind didn’t quite understand.

“A nest is perfectly natural for sleeping in, my thief; only those filthy men seek other comforts than those of their brooding.” Smaug rolled and slithered into a more comfortable position, sighing faintly, and popped his shoulders. “It is barbaric, really,”

“What is?” The dragon’s vague, condescending speech didn’t help Bilbo’s hangover. “I don’t understand.”

“To leave your brooding instincts behind so carelessly.” Smaug snorted, “The sires of mankind must be foolish indeed to let their young seek shelter already provided. All that could be needed is within the walls of a truly respectable nest.”

“Food?” “It comes.” Smaug simmered, “Seekers of fame, lazy and fat.”

“Gold? What about treasure?” Bilbo tried.

“The nest _is_ treasure, thiefling.” Smaug looked at him and, even from upside down, it felt like he was being treated like a child with obvious questions.

“Mates,” Bilbo tossed out casually. “there must be _something_ a nest doesn’t have.”

“It is the nest that attracts the mate, thiefling.” Smaug’s eyes gleamed golden. “The gold, the jewels, a waistcoat of diamonds... the nest is all things. Surely your hole here is illustrative of such wisdoms, even if it lacks the finery of my mountain.”

“Well,” Bilbo frowned at the dragon, unable to deny that the heap of blankets was comfortable, and got up queasily. “you may be right. For now, I’m off to bed. I need to sleep this off,”

“WHAT?” Smaug was up and around him suddenly. A nose brushed his hair and limbs held him close. “ _No!_ ” The roar was almost fierce, but the outrage and disappointment caught Bilbo’s attention. “You are _not_ allowed!”

“Shhh...” Bilbo whined, covering his ears as best he could.

Smaug lowered his thunderous voice to a hiss. “I refuse to allow you to migrate to your little thief bed and out of my surveillance, thiefling. As my host, you are to attend me.”

Bilbo groaned: “Don’t be such a baby.”

“I am _not_ a baby!” Smaug growled, his chest hot against Bilbo’s back. “Stay here! You _can’t_ leave!”

“Stop it, Smaug,” Bilbo sighed. “this is ridiculous.”

“Noooo...” Smaug’s weight leaned hard on his back and the hobbit’s drunken temper flared.

“You’re whining, Smaug. You’re supposed to be the greatest calamity of my age and you are _whining_.” He looked over at the chin resting on his shoulder and scowled crossly: “You know who whines? _Babies_. Now get off me.”

To the hobbit’s surprise and pleasure, Smaug allowed him to get up and gaped mutely at him from the floor. As the dragon’s silence continued, Bilbo decided he’d take advantage of the rare opportunity. “I am going to bed.” Bilbo said firmly. “I cannot sleep on my living room floor _again_. My back will ache. If you need my help, _sniff_ me out, or whatever dragons do, and wake me up.” Bilbo turned on his heels, trying not to gag, and shuffled back to his room. He heard the dragon follow a ways, not giving him any attention, and tossed himself onto his bed with a sigh.

He was quickly floating on his soft mattress all the way to sleep. However, his blissful smile fell when something warm coiled around him and roused him. He turned to see what his houseguest could want, but as soon as he met Smaug’s eyes Bilbo froze.

He looked like a predator. His diamond-like pupils were narrow and they were both breathing so shallowly it was as if no one were moving. His head suddenly cocked to one side –the most dragon-like thing he’d done in all the time he’d been there- and a thin spiral of smoke left his nose as he stared wordlessly at Bilbo like he was a steak.

Bilbo waited, his chest tight, until he couldn’t take it anymore, and then he sat up. Smaug’s eyes practically pinned him down but he managed to scoot up a little and, steeling himself for the worst, reach out a shaky hand.

“Smaug?”

“...” That dazed, predatory stare and his guest’s silence made the hobbit nervous. Was he sleepwalking? _Could_ dragons sleepwalk? He kept his hand out, licking his lips to wet the parched skin, and he let a stillness fall between them like wet mortar.

Suddenly, Smaug’s head dipped and Bilbo’s fingers met rich, if not greasy, curls; the man pushed forward, letting Bilbo’s hand trail along the pronounced vertebrae of his new skin with a long, deep rumble. Bilbo was stuck with a dragon throw blanket and, tracing the vertebrae instead of combing through curls, the hobbits weary mind soon turned the spines to mountains.

And from mountains to their king.

* * *

 

“Balin,” Bilbo called to the white-bearded dwarf as he caught sight of him. “Where’s Thorin?”

“You checked the throne room?” Balin asked,

“And the library.” Bilbo nodded, “And I asked Dwalin. _And_ I checked the treasure hall. I can’t find him.” The hobbit hadn’t exaggerated; his rounds of Erebor’s restored areas had been all for naught, and the rest of the dwarves had been of no help in locating the leader of their company. “It’s like he’s _hiding_ from me or something.”

“Well,” Balin frowned slightly and glanced down. “I don’t know, lad. If he’s not there, he _could_ be... no, not at this age.”

“What?” Bilbo pressed the old dwarf for information. “Please, Balin, someone needs to rein Fili and Kili in, and Dwalin won’t help me!”

“As a lad, Thorin was always skipping stones across the buried river below the main halls.” Balin said reluctantly, leaning closer as if it were some great secret. “He might be down there, if you _really_ need him.”

Bilbo smiled: ‘Thank you, Balin! I’ll go check right now!”

“Do you want me to take you down?” Bilbo shook his head as he hurried back toward the descending staircase. “Are you _sure_?”

“No, no!” Bilbo cried, starting down the steps. “I’ll be fine!” Or so he’d thought. The deeper Bilbo went, the darker it got, and soon Bilbo was quite lost in the deep darks of Erebor’s buried chambers. He wandered a little further, seeing no end to the darkness except behind him, and groaned loudly at his misfortune. “I’m lost!” He shouted, biting his lip as his voice echoed. “HELP!”

His echo was the only reply, a forlorn, faded rendition of his plea that made his stomach twist uncomfortably. No one was nearly, and Bilbo had told only Balin where he was going; it could be almost the entire day before they realized he was gone and then maybe two more before they located him! Bilbo took a deep breath: “HELP! **HEELLL** -” “Bilbo?”

The hobbit jumped, turned around in the near-total darkness, and broke out into a tight, relieved grin. “Thorin! Oh bless my smials, it’s you! I thought I was going to be lost down here all day!”

“What brings you all the way down here?” Thorin questioned, his broad shoulder set hard. “I don’t remember showing you this portion of the halls... why are you here?” His question was sharp, as Thorin always was, but Bilbo winced a little unseen as the bite of his companion’s question caught his heart in its teeth.

“It’s the boys.” Bilbo said quickly, “Fili and Kili are-“ “What happened?” Thorin hands fell on each of Bilbo’s shoulders, gripping tight, and suddenly a small lamp illuminated their faces- the light cast deep grooves in the anxious face of the King Under the Mountain. “Are they alright?! Are we under attack!? I heard no alarms or-“

Bilbo put a hand over each of Thorin’s, feeling his fingers dig in harshly. “No, no! Everything is fine! They’re just being a nuisance, and Bofur and I need your help setting them straight. You said they needed to take responsibility for being princes, and they’re acting more like animals today. They’re absolutely uncontrollable.” He felt a deep dread for scaring Thorin so badly, but soon the fear burned away in the lamplight and left only wise understanding.

“I see.” Thorin said, releasing Bilbo to pick up the lantern. “Then let us go. It’s no use letting them terrorize the company when so much work is still needed to be done. Perhaps a few hours of breaking stone will even out their temperaments.” He took off steadily into the darkness from which Bilbo had come, his bulk disguising the lantern glow, and Bilbo squawked wordlessly when he lost sight of the king after only a few minutes.

“THORIN?!” Bilbo tripped in the dark, unable to see the offending stone before one hairy toe struck it hard. He tumbled forward with a short shriek of terror, expecting a harsher attack on his little person, but strong hands kept him off the stone.

“Be careful. The floor is uneven,” Thorin said, holding the light nearer.

“-and your lamp is not bright enough.” Bilbo insisted stubbornly, pulling back out of the dwarf king’s grip. “I can’t see a thing!” He pushed his hair back from his face, frustrated by the long curls in his eyes, and was surprised to see Thorin smiling at him. The gesture smoothed the worry lines of his forehead and crinkled the corners of his eyes gently, lighting up his face like a lamp. “What’s so funny?”

“Hobbits,” Shaking his head, Thorin caught one of the hands tangled in his curls and zipped his fingers into Bilbo’s casually. “let’s get moving then, before my sister-sons run the others into the bedrock.” His palm was warm against his –weathered and harsh, but comfortingly rough with calluses and work- and he pulled the hobbit close to walk alongside him.

“I-I... right.” Bilbo nodded shortly, feeling curls fall in _his_ face again, but was too embarrassed to push them back. “You’re right. Up we go. Ori must be fed up with them by now...” He let the king lead him down the dark tunnel, his eyes cast down from the warrior’s face, and Bilbo couldn’t help but notice that Thorin was trailing his fingers along the wall instead of lighting the way, He held him curiosity silent for a few minutes, walking hand-in-hand with the kind under the mountain as if they were hardly of age and courting behind their parents’ backs.

Eventually Bilbo couldn’t help himself. “Why do you have a lantern if you’re not going to use it?” He spared a glance at the dwarf’s face; it was calm, younger-looking than it had in years, and made Bilbo feel all warm inside.

“I need no light. These halls were my womb- my home, Bilbo Baggins, shows me the way when the lights go out. This lantern is of no more than habit,” To make his point, Thorin snuffed the dim glow and led Bilbo on in the black. “but as you can tell, I had little use for it in my halls. My heart remembers this stone.”

“Really?” Bilbo shouldn’t have been surprised, but he was, and he groped blindly for the other wall out of curiosity. Thorin didn’t let go, but he let Bilbo venture out, the tips of his fingers brushing against smooth stone. “Thorin, that is... _brilliant_. I’ve never heard of anything like that before, not even in all of my books!”

“’Brilliant’?” Thorin stopped, sounding so shocked, and Bilbo could almost feel his companion’s eyes when they fell on him. “It is expected of _any_ dwarf male to speak to the Mother Mountain, Bilbo. There is nothing so ‘fantastic’ about my skill... I am hardly the most skilled.” Bilbo nearly laughed. “It’s been a long time. I need my hand still to hear Her speak to me... I once knew how to merely walk and let Her guide me.”

Bilbo snatched his hand away from the wall and laughed quietly. “It’s still amazing to me. I can’t do _anything_ like that; I’m almost useless in the dark.” He could feel Thorin watching, and they were just standing together i the dark; Bilbo’s palms began to sweat. All he could think of was how indecent it was to be in their positions and he swallowed harshly.

“Thank you, Bilbo,” Thorin said, his voice as rich and warm as Bilbo knew his smile would be. “it has been a long time since someone beyond the line of Durin has spoken so sincerely to me.” Flushing up to his ears, Bilbo muttered a reply nonsensically and looked down where his hairy toes should have been. Something brushed a few ringlets from his face and Bilbo wondered briefly how well the dwarf could see, but then they were walking again and his tongue was tied. He decided privately that, even if he couldn’t see anything, this would be one of the memories of Erebor that Bilbo would treasure.

* * *

 

Bilbo didn’t realize he’d started to hum until, roused from his thoughts by the growl of his stomach, his throat protested. He left the dragon’s curls alone, rubbing his sore throat gingerly, and cleared it twice.

“Did I bid you to stop, thiefling?’ Smaug asked snarkily, opening one eye. He had piled himself and his nest onto Bilbo and his bed, settling in, and Bilbo had to admit that the extra warmth in the cold winter was very welcome.

“No,” Bilbo scowled. “but I don’t sing for you.”

“Don’t you?” Smaug rumbled.

“No.” Bilbo stood firm and sat up, pushing the dragon man’s head from his lap resolutely as he swung his legs out over the edge. “I have only sung for one man,” –Images of Thorin flooded Bilbo’s brain and made him pause. “and you are _not_ him.”

“Oh?’ Smaug’s nostrils flared as he sat up, following the hobbit around his bedroom as he collected a set of clean clothes for himself to wear.

“Bilbo blushed: ‘None of your business!” and he secluded himself in his bathroom to bathe and change in some semblance of peace and normalcy.

“IS HE A THIEF LIKE YOU?” Smaug shouted, interrogating him through the door.

“NO!” Bilbo shouted back, singing down low in the bathwater with a scowl.

“A WARRIOR, THEN!” Smaug sounded a bit amused by the idea. “ONE TO DEFEND YOUR HONOUR, PERHAPS!” Bilbo, on the other side of the door, was not.

“WOULD YOU LEAVE ME ALONE?”

Smaug chuckled. “A warrior, indeed. HE MUST BE GREAT TO HAVE EARNED YOUR AFFECTIONS, THIEFLING! A MAN OF LAKETOWN?”

“GOOD LORD _NO_!” Bilbo cried, disgusted. “I WOULD NEVER- _“_

“AN ELF?” Smaug asked persistently. He wasn’t taking the ‘no’ very well, it seemed. “IS THIS MAN AN ELF, THIEF?” He was _too_ determined to get answers and Bilbo picked up on the dragon’s intentions almost immediately after he tried to narrow down Bilbo’s mystery man by his race.

“I’M NOT PLAYING THIS GAME WITH YOU, SMAUG!” Bilbo declared loudly s he abandoned his bathtub angrily, toweling off and tugging on his clothes with a hot face and a furrowed brow. He threw open the door, missing the tall man by inches, and stalked past him. “I’M GOING FOR A WALK!” He took a coat from one hall closet, passing the dragon by sourly, and stomped toward the front door moodily. Smaug followed him, easily keeping pace with the hobbit’s tiny legs, and smiled wickedly when Bilbo glared up at him. “I’ll go with you.”


	12. Precious

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry everyone. This chapter is a bit short in my mind, but I couldn't get it quite right. What do you think so far? I'd appreciate anything helpful you have to say.

As Bilbo forged a footpath in the snow, he made it his goal to ignore his guest and enjoy his walk.

“Morning, Samwise.” Bilbo smiled, watching the young hobbit gawk at Smaug and his tattered cloak. “How’s your gaffer faring in this cold?”

“He...” It took Sam a minute. “he’s doing much better, Mr. Bilbo. It’s easier to breathe now...” The young hobbit was seemingly entranced by the dragon in man’s form and Bilbo sighed when he realized that any respectable conversation was out of the question.

“Have a nice day, Samwise.” He said, defeated,

“Right.” Bilbo led Smaug away from town, toward what would be empty fields and woodland, and let his tense shoulders drop.

“Is your one man attractive?” Smaug asked suddenly. “This one man you’ve sung for; is he a suitable mate?” Bilbo flushed brighter than a cherry tomato and made a strangled sound of alarm. “Genetic superiority, a fine nest for a brood, a large-“

“Please!” Bilbo whined, covering his ears. “Stop it! I’m not telling you who he is! Leave it alone!” The hobbit couldn’t think about Thorin from so far away and expect to stay sane, and Smaug was making it no easier to forget the dark-haired dwarf king. “I don’t want to talk about him.”

“Thiefling, tell me about him?” Smaug’s plea was so gentle it shocked Bilbo into looking up. The man’s eyes were gold coins in the curtain of messy curls and pale skin; out in the sunshine, Bilbo bore witness to each patch of scales on his guest’s face shining in the sun. It was radiant –wonderous to behold- and Bilbo understood why Samwise had been so awed. Smaug was, for all his ills, magnificent to behold.

Bilbo caught himself staring and looked away. “I don’t think...”

“ _Thiefling_ ,”

“Well,” Bilbo sighed, “he’s taller than me-“ “Everyone is taller than you.” Smaug pointed out dryly, making Bilbo scowl.

“Did I _ask_ you? Do _you_ know him? Are _you_ telling this story?” He gave the amused dragon in man form a hard look, seeing no rebuttal, he continued. “and he _is_ very attractive, thank you.”

“In what way?” “Oh _no_.” Bilbo scowled, “That’s a race question. I’m not telling. Story time is over, master dragon.” Bilbo tried to walk away and leave Smaug clueless, but the dragon caught his jacket and followed along behind him like a baby duckling.

“What else?” Smaug asked, giving the hobbit no peace. “Tell me more.”

Bilbo thought long and hard as they walked, trying to be quick to sate his houseguest’s curiosity, but Thorin’s face in his mind brought up things he thought he had buried long ago.

 _“Bilbo, stay a few more days,”_ Bilbo closed his eyes as Thorin tried to get him to stay. Erebor and its king called on him now, urging him to return within the deep recesses of his mind. _“for me? I could use your advice in my throne room...”_

“He trusted me.” Bilbo said, his voice quiet. “He would have given me anything to make me stay him.”

 _“Always,”_ The Thorin in Bilbo’s mind seemed to want him to cry– want him to feel guilty. Or maybe it wasn’t Thorin; Bilbo’s subconscious had probably just been waiting for the chance to torture him with his choice. _“Bilbo, you’ve heard. I will not set foot in the treasury. I made Balin the overseer of finances, and I will not make the mistake I did with the Arkenstone. Please stay...”_

“He was stubborn –save me, was he _stubborn_ \- but he could turn around and I’d have my way so fast it made me dizzy.” Bilbo flipped his collar against the breeze as they crested the hill, admiring the scenery with a faint shiver. “He could be surprisingly tender when he wanted to be.”

_A hand stroked his cheek, warm but clammy with sickness, and Bilbo groaned as he lifted his head from his arms. He’d fallen asleep on Thorin’s bedside; Gandalf had swooped down on Thorin’s shivering body and pressed his staff’s stone to his fluttering heart. They’d rushed him to the infirmary, Fili and Kili no better, and the wizard had worked day and night on them._

_Looking up from the sheets, Bilbo locked eyes with the dwarf king and felt a chill run deep into his bones. “Thorin?” The warrior’s eyes were bright with fever, as Gandalf had said they would be, and Bilbo considered calling for help. “Thorin... can you hear me?”_

_“Bilbo.” Suddenly the hobbit was on the bed and wrapped in a set of strong arms. “what happened?”_

_“You were hurt.” Bilbo squeaked, “We won, but you were injured. Gandalf healed you and-“_

_“We won...” Thorin wasn’t paying attention. He was combing a hand through Bilbo’s nappy curls absently, like he was petting a cat, and Bilbo was too tired to ask him to focus. “Any casualties?”_

_“No...” Bilbo shook his head lazily. Since when had Thorin been so soft and warm._

_“Stay with me?” Thorin’s sleepy grip tightened and Bilbo rolled into a more comfortable position._

_“Mmm...” And they were both off to sleep._ When Bilbo felt the cloak brush his cheek in the breeze again, his eyes flew open and he stared around in alarm. Thick black fabric was wrapped over his shoulders and shielded him from the wind from ankle to ear. Smaug’s body heat was filling the insulated space with its perfect temperature, soothing Bilbo’s cold hobbit bones, and he let his simple, reminiscing content linger long enough for him to lean back against the dragon’s sturdy frame without a word.

“Thiefling, what are you thinking about?” Smaug leaned down over him a little bit, letting in a draft of chilly winter air, and Bilbo stiffened. “Is your one so complicated?” His deep voice was a low rumble, like the beginnings of an earthquake or the tremulous drum roll of inspiration-blocked fingers on a wooden desktop.

“He’s precious to me- all of him. There isn’t just _one_ thing I like.” Bilbo gave Smaug a lazy, unaffected look and kept walking, his shoulders hunched against the cold wind. Suddenly, Bilbo didn’t want to talk to Smaug anymore, and he hoped it was very obvious in his body language and his tone. The memory of waking up to Thorin’s feverish eyes –the ones that had rolled back on the battlefield and taken his heart down under the icy swells with him- had ripped something open in him and it was raw all over again.

“’Precious’?” Bilbo winced as the dragon pressed on a bare nerve. “What do you mean? How is he precious to you?”

“Because he is!” Bilbo snapped, turning around to face Smaug with his face twisted under the weight of his emotions.

“But why? _How?_ ” Smaug came close –usually, it would have been too close- and Bilbo fisted his hands tightly. “Explain your riddle, thief!”

“He always made me smile!” Bilbo admitted, feeling as if a weight had been lifted from his chest. “ _He_ saved _his_ smile for me, and he made me feel safe when I was far from home! Because of that, he is precious to me!” He huffed and puffed thick clouds of fogged breath into the air between them, feeling his heart untwist a little, and slowly his posture lost the dominant edge that had rendered Smaug silent.

“Do not presume to _shout_ at me, thief!”

“I WILL SHOUT AT WHOMEVER I WANT!” Bilbo thundered suddenly, “THIS IS _MY_ HOUSE AND YOU ARE _MY_ GUEST! DO NOT ORDER ME ABOUT LIKE SOME SERVANT!” He had had it with the dragon’s bossiness and his mocking nature, and he was going to have his say in what went on from that point on. “I am _tired_ of you lording over me, Smaug, and I will _lock_ you outside if I have to deal with _any_ of your fire and brimstone temper tantrums again!” He lost his breath with his shouting, glad to be so far from his neighbors when he blew off some steam, and suddenly he realized his palms were stinging sharply.

When he looked down, he blushed at the sight of five bloody crescents in each hand. When he looked up, Smaug was staring at them too and the tense air between them had dissipated just as quickly as it had come like the humidity of a summer thunderstorm.

“Thiefling,” Smaug’s voice was measured and careful, dripping with honey in all the right places. “perhaps we should return to the nest. I believe one of your ritual mealtimes is at hand.”

“Right.” Bilbo closed his hand into a fist, careful of the tiny cuts, and shoved a hand in each pocket of his waistcoat. He refused to look at the dragon again, keeping his eyes down even when they’d returned to Bag End and tucked into hot bowls of potato onion rabbit soup. They ate in silence as cold as the winter outside, despite the hot fire at their backs and the natural heat radiating from Smaug’s human skin, and soon Bilbo’s quiet had infected them both.

Bilbo went to bed that night without fuss, finding himself lying awake in the dark, and he wondered if he would spend his nights like this again. He’d sworn that after Erebor he would not do this to himself anymore, and he intended to keep what little dignity he had left; he would not mope.


	13. Complications

When Bilbo woke up the next morning, the Shire outside his window was still dark. He sat up slowly, stretching out his tired little muscles, and he yawned softly in the calm quiet of his hobbit hole that morning. The hobbit swung his legs out of bed and got dressed, taking the time to bathe properly ad relishing in the heat and feel of the bathwater for a long time before he finally got out and, with pruned fingers- dressed himself in comforting layers.

He worked the buttons through their holes, the edges of them worn from the years he’d owned the shirt, and soon Bilbo’s smile had reappeared, as soft around the edges as the buttonholes of his shirt. Bilbo wandered through his smials, finding every room heated to perfection by what he assumed was Smaug’s ever-burning fire, and son he was just before the main room. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to walk through it just yet; there was another way into the kitchen, but Bilbo couldn’t bring himself to take it.

Bracing himself, Bilbo turned the corner into his main room and was immediately confronted with the bareness of his floor. The hearth was empty and the fire had simmered out what could have been hours ago. Bilbo’s heart jumped and beat at his ribs like a wrongful prisoner, and suddenly he was running through the hallways again to check rooms and search empty corridors for his guest.

“Smaug?” Bilbo cried, skidding past a hall and stumbling to turn back and go down it. “SMAUG? SMAUG, I-”

“Thief, you make enormous amounts of racket.” Bilbo tripped when the dragon spoke, falling to his knees before his guest, and stared at him with obvious relief when he tossed his curls out of his face. “It is quite early for such nonsense,”

“I’m-I’m sorry!” Bilbo stammered, struggling to his feet and smoothing his tunic-like shirt nervously. “I thought you’d... done something stupid.”

“’Stupid’?” Smaug raised both eyebrows and then scowled at his host. “Thiefling, perhaps I misunderstand, but I would not do anything of the kind.” His hands planted themselves on his hips and, looking down at Bilbo, he was impossibly big by comparison.

“I thought you’d left.” Bilbo admitted, half-turning to gesture to the main room. “Your... _nest_ is missing, and the fire was out. I’d said I’d lock you out, but hadn’t meant it, and I-” Shaking his head, Bilbo found himself touching the braid behind his ear and biting his lip. “I’m sorry.” He looked away and dropped his hand, taking to comparing their toes as he let his words sink in. “I didn’t mean to shout. I just-“

Bilbo fell silent as a warm hand tangled itself in his curls and tousled them. He glanced up through his bangs and lashes, shocked stiff, and saw something he never thought he’d see. Smaug was smiling at him, if only a little.

“You never cease to amaze me, little thief, with your displays...” He rumbled, tousling Bilbo’s curls for a final time before he turned away and swaggered back into one of Bilbo’s key interior rooms. As he moved, the hobbit caught glimpses of a fire and the nest he’d made before, and he couldn’t help but smile to himself as he fixed his curls and hurried to the kitchen to fix them both some breakfast.

He quickly busied his hands with eggs and bacon and slicing tomatoes and frying mushrooms until his mind was whirring with the scents filling his little kitchen. If he was busy, he couldn’t think about the relief he felt at having made sure Smaug wasn’t holding a grudge, and Bilbo ensured he was busy with the meal. He took down the jar of scones from the shelf and found a fresh slab of butter; he washed a bowlful of blackberries and set them on the table; by the time Smaug had followed the scent of food, Bilbo had practically laid out a feast.

“Thiefling...” Smaug’s eyes widened until his pupils had fallen deep into the gold of his irises. “such a meal must have a significance. I do not recall your other rituals being so extravagant.”

“Think of it as a peace-offering.” Bilbo said, sitting down and buttering a scone generously. “I would like to have another guest over soon, and it would be extremely helpful if you were on your best behavior... _or_ stayed in your new room, while she is here.” The way the hobbit spoke was tactful, even, and not unlike the way Smaug had maneuvered him back into the hobbit hole last night, and the dragon recognized it immediately.

“A female...” He made a thoughtful noise as he took a place at Bilbo’s little table, perusing the selection before he quickly filled his plate with a bit of everything. “You wish to court her?”

“...” Bilbo flushed, but managed not to choke on his food as he continued to eat. “Yes,” He answered in a small voice.

“What of your one?” Smaug looked confused and Bilbo mirrored the expression perfectly. What was he talking about? “You will only sing for one man, but the courting of another is by no means sacred? Braise and singe the sires of man...” Smaug shook his head at Bilbo, still looking a little bewildered as he cleared his plate, and suddenly Bilbo’s mind caught on.

He didn’t know what to say. “I...”

“The careless manner with which your race goes about courting should be the cause for much concern.” Smaug said indifferently. “I must disapprove strongly at your values, little thief.”

“That stone-headed fool is gone.” Bilbo said shortly, trying to eat and seem as unaffected as his guest, but he could feel the whole room tensing to listen. “I left him. I do not intend to return to him any time soon.”

“And why is that?”

“Because he broke his promise, and went into that cursed hall again!” Bilbo said suddenly, slamming his hands flat o his tabletop. “He promised me that Balin would handle the affairs, but _no_! He had to go in and get himself all lost in that _bloody_ treasure!” Bilbo downed his hot tea in one go, growing more and more sour as he thought about it. “Save me from the stubbornness of dwarves!” Bilbo let his plea ring out in the kitchen and he glared at the food he’d prepared angrily, but realization was already lapping at his heels like cold water.

He’d just told Smaug about Thorin.  
He’d just brought up the treasure in Erebor.  
He had just admitted to singing for Thorin.  
He had just shouted at him again.

Looking up at the dragon in man form, Bilbo couldn’t help but feel self-conscious about the braid hanging by his ear now. Smaug’s eyes were narrow and cold, calculating something deep in the dark caverns of his ancient mind, and it made Bilbo shiver the way his guest’s eyes followed him as he stood to put his dishes away.

“So...” Smaug rumbled, weaving his fingers together and staring at Bilbo over them levelly. “Thorin Oakenshield.” He glanced at the fire of the kitchen. “My little thief was in love with that _filthy dwarfish usurper!_ ” His fists suddenly came down on Bilbo kitchen table, cracking the wood under each hand, and Bilbo nearly fell off his stool.

“I was not ‘ _in love_ ’!” Bilbo insisted, his face hot. “I... He respected me, and I respected him.”

“Liar!” Smaug slammed the table again and the hobbit quaked as his houseguest rose to his full height. “You care about him! I can see it in your eyes even when you don’t want to tell it to me! You’d give the world to him on a silver platter, but never admit to having any hand in it. Why else would you have gone from this pliant little meadow to the cold stone of Erebor for that motley crew of vagabonds!?”

“That’s not fair!” Bilbo objected, feeling goose bumps erupting on his arms and back. “You’re only saying this because you don’t like her! If they hadn’t reclaimed Erebor, this argument wouldn’t be happening!”

“IF THOSE FILTHY DWARVES HADN’T _EVICTED_ ME FROM MY NEST, _MUCH_ WOULD HAVE BEEN DIFFERENT!” Smaug thundered, pushing upwards and making the table give another loud crack. “ _I_ WOULD BE KING UNDER THE MOUNTAIN! _I_ WOULD BE RULER! MEN WOULD BOW DOWN TO _ME_! THOSE MEN WITH THEIR SWORDS; BITING AND GNAWING AND _HACKING_ WITH THEIR _SWORDS_ AND THEIR _AXES_! DRAGON SLAYERS! FAME SEEKERS! BUNDLING THEMSEVLES INTO _MY_ LAIR AND _MY_ _NEST_ AND TOOK WHAT WAS _MINE_!”

“Yours?” Bilbo went unheard, but he was bewildered by the dragon’s seeming hurt over the loss of the mountain.

“MINE! ALL MINE! AND THEY _STOLE_ IT FROM ME, THE DIRTY LITTLE THIEVES AND THEIR MINDS _ADDLED_ WITH _MY_ GOLD!” Smaug stalked back and forth, his expression nearly murderous. “SLAYERS AND THIEVES AND _COWARDS_ ALL OF THEM! MAY THE GREAT FIRES TAKE THEM AND REDUCE THEM TO _ASHES_!”

Bilbo quaked. “Smaug-”

“AND YOU; _YOU_ FEAR THE MIGHT OF ANOTHER AND THE WORLD BEYOND THE BORDERS OF YOUR TINY GREEN LANDS! YOU FEAR TONGUES OF FLAME AND RAVAGED FIELDS, WHENTHE FEAR YOU SHOULD _REEK_ _OF_ IS THAT WHICH GIVES YOU _COMFORT_!”

Bilbo was rendered mute under the weight of Smaug’s blustering rage, his ranting and rambling, and his legs quivered with the desire to run from exactly what the dragon had described. The fire, the death, the anger, the hate; Smaug frightened him now more than ever. He was a wounded animal, so wounded in his raving, and Bilbo could not assure him like a restless Shire pony.

“YOUR VERY _HEART_ SINGS A LITANY OF FEARS AND DOUBTS, AND THE ONE TO WHICH YOU _CLING_ HAS _BETRAYED YOU_ ” Bilbo couldn’t help it. He ran from Smaug’s booming voice and flushed face, all crumpled in with emotions he couldn’t quite put into his bellowing tirade. “AND YET YOU RUN FROM _ME_!” Smaug chased him furiously, knocking things off shelves and overturning the low stools and tables in the hall. He hunted Bilbo through hallways, stalking him like quarry in a field, and soon he found Bilbo in a dead end and as pale as the opals he’d pressed into his underbelly.

“SMAUG!” Bilbo’s eyes widened like dinner plates as he pressed himself flat against the wall. “SMAUG PLEASE!”

“YOU RUN FROM THAT” The dragon was suddenly looming over him, hands pressed against the wood on either side of his head and teeth bared in a fierce snarl. “WHICH YOU ALREADY KNOW, LITTLE THIEFLING! WHAT FEAR SHOULD YOU SHOW ME?!” He stared down at the hobbit fiercely, pinning him to the wall with his eyes and his hands, and soon Bilbo couldn’t stop the lone set of tears from washing down his face. Smaug watched them go, glistening diamonds rolling down his plump, pale cheeks, and slowly his harsh, hunched shoulders dropped and his snarl disappeared.

Bilbo just stared up at him, more terrified than he had been in the vast halls with fire and gold all around him and promises of death in his ears.

“...” Smaug dropped his hands suddenly, letting them hang at his sides, and Bilbo darted around him to pause at the mouth of the smial. “thiefling-“ But then Bilbo was gone, locking himself in his bedroom and frantically scribing a letter to the king and the wizard who had both sworn they would come to his aid.


	14. A Letter and Realization

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember, guys, I love to hear all your helpful and lovingly long reviews! Especially you, ArtHistory! A special shout-out to such a wonderful reviewer!

_Thorin Oakenshield,  
            It has been a long time since we last spoke and, while I regret the time that has past, it was necessary. I bring news of my home; Bag End is under siege. Smaug has come, by what magyks and trickery, I do not know, but he is here and with me and alive. His body is human; he is a mere man, and a good sword would be the end of him, but I fear for what would happen should I fail. Therefore, I call for the aid you promised me long ago, should your oath still stand._

_Please help me, Thorin. He frightens me and I do not know what he will do._  
Your burglar,  
Bilbo Baggins

Bilbo cursed his uselessness, slamming his fists own on his desk without real force and finally letting his shakes take over him. He quivered and trembled against the steadfastness of his desk, making it rattle against the wall and the floor, and he gasped for breaths through his terrified tears. He had been a fool to think he could domesticate the dragon enough for living civilly in his hobbit hole and he realized it more and more as fear tried to drown him.

He would never make it; Smaug would kill him before his letter ever reached them.

Bilbo raised his head from the desktop, staring at the sealed letter forlornly until a cool draft made him shiver and frown. Turning around, he saw his window, a round hole in the wall he’d always disregarded, but now it was his escape and his freedom and his future all in one circular section of his home.

Scrambling away from his desk and the small sprinkling of tears, Bilbo picked a warmer shirt and pants and tried not to feel squeamish about leaving without any real winter clothes; Bilbo deftly fitted himself through the window and crawled out on his elbows and belly through the snow. When he was finally free, he closed the window almost totally and stood up, already shivering in the cold of his back yard, and he set off for town with his letter clutched in one hand and tucked under his arm.

Wading through snowdrifts and over roads, Bilbo shivered and his teeth chattered by the time he finally made it close to town and realized he looked absolutely mad. He was in no way dressed for the weather and he looked in no way sane; how could he explain that his tall houseguest was actually the dragon from his previous adventure in a magic disguise? His quick pace slowed to a trudge, and then a halt, and Bilbo stared at the clouds of his own breath sorrowfully.

“What am I doing?” Bilbo asked himself, covering his face with one chilly hand. “I’m going to get laughed out of the Green Dragon like this...” He sat down, already too chilled and too sodden to care about the snow. “What do I do _now_?”

“Mr. Baggins?!” Suddenly Bilbo looked up and there was Lily Rumble, dark ribbons in her hair, and a basket over her arm that steamed gently in the cool January air. “What are you doing outside without a coat? It’s absolutely _freezing_!”

“I was in a bit of a rush,” Bilbo smiled, his face tight but his heart warmed by her kind concern. For once in what seemed like a long time someone was paying attention to _his_ needs, and it felt even better than he remembered. “I had a bit of a disagreement with me-“

“Oh, your tall friend? What a shame!” Lily put a hand on Bilbo’s arm consolingly in a way that made him jump. “I saw him out with you and you two seemed so close! What ever could have happened?”

“’Comfortable’?” Bilbo squeaked, shocked, and it took him a minute to formulate a good reply. “I was... intending to have you over, actually. I found a few things that would benefit from your skills, and I got some blackberries recently... I was thinking a pie would be a rather good thank you, seeing as how they _are_ your favourite.”

“And he disapproved?” Lily’s smile became a frown and Bilbo’s heart sank a little. “What a shame; he seemed like such a handsome man. Seems like a waste for a recluse to be so good-looking...” She sighed longingly. “I would have loved to make him some good Hobbiton clothes... that cloak of his is nearly a rag.”

“And he’d benefit from some clothes of his own too.” Bilbo muttered. “Maybe then he’d stop ruining my good shirts.” Bilbo stood up stiffly, brushing at the snow clinging to his pants with numb hands, but Lily remained where she was with a thoughtful look on her face. “Lily?”

“Let’s go, then.” Lily’s smile warmed Bilbo’s frost-bitten hands. “I bet he’s just lonely. I’ll come and save your poor wardrobe, and I bet your tall friend will feel a little better.”

“He’s just fine.” Bilbo insisted, but his mind turned to Smaug sooner or later and he wondered if it had only been fear he’d seen in the dragon-man’s eyes. His mind wandered to that dead-end, to the expression on Smaug’s face, and his stomach twisted.

_“’THOSE MEN WITH THEIR SWORDS; BITING AND GNAWING AND HACKING WITH THEIR SWORDS AND THEIR AXES! DRAGON SLAYERS! FAME SEEKERS! BUNDLING THEMSEVLES INTO MY LAIR AND MY NEST AND TOOK WHAT WAS MINE!’”_

Bilbo looked down at the snow, his mind working hard, and Lily’s smile became more knowing in the time it took for him to look down and back.

_“AND YOU... THE FEAR YOU SHOULD REEK OF IS THAT WHICH GIVES YOU COMFORT! YOUR VERY HEART SINGS A LITANY OF FEARS AND DOUBTS, AND THE ONE TO WHICH YOU CLING HAS BETRAYED YOU, AND YET YOU RUN FROM ME! YOU RUN FROM THAT WHICH YOU ALREADY KNOW, LITTLE THIEFLING! WHAT FEAR SHOULD YOU SHOW ME?”_

“What do you say?” Lily ducked her head and stared up at Bilbo through her lashes. “Let’s go... I bet he’s lonely so far from home. There aren’t many big folk in these parts, and I’m sure he was just lashing out.” Lily sounded so rational to him suddenly; everything she was saying made sense, and it made Bilbo’s throat close even tighter at the idea that she was right without even knowing it.

Smaug was alone. As a dragon, at least there had been gold and power to sate him, but as a human Smaug was so very, entirely alone. He was afraid of the empty, the mundane, and he had lost everything; Bilbo’s lack on sympathy certainly hadn’t helped him either.

Bilbo nearly smacked himself across the face at his own stupidity.

“How could I have missed it?” He asked. “How could I not have noticed? Of course he’s lonely! I should have understood sooner!”

“Hindsight is clear as a summer sky, Mr. Baggins,” Lily shifted her basket and held out a hand to him comfortingly. “We should get you back inside before you freeze solid. I’m sure your friend would much prefer your company over that of an icicle.”

Bilbo shook his head stubbornly, putting his hands under his arms for even the barest shred of warmth. “No... I have to mail a letter right away.” He didn’t want to leave the dragon alone with Bag End or Lily, but Thorin and Gandalf would know what to do with his ‘tall friend’, as Lily called him.

“But what about your tall friend?” Lily pressed him hard, taking hold of his shoulder to try and squeeze the severity into him with her weak grip. “Surely, _he_ is more important than some silly letter!”

Bilbo went to reply, but paused for thought. “The letter is about him...” He told her honestly, “And it’s very, _very_ important.” Bilbo turned away and smiled to himself. “Your idea is excellent, Lily; how does the day after tomorrow sound?”

Lily’s face lit up and Bilbo couldn’t help but feel proud. Maybe he could have a chance with her, after all. “Splendid. The day after tomorrow... around tea time?”

“I’ll have a pot ready.” Bilbo promised, and soon they had parted ways looking quite happy. Bilbo took his time getting to town –or as much as he could with his limbs growing so numb- and when he entered the Green Dragon it was like a slap to his everything with red-hot iron.

“Why, Bilbo!” Chided the innkeeper. “You’re frozen to the bone; sit by the fire!” The jolly man had known Bilbo since they’d come of age, and he wouldn’t take Bilbo’s ‘no’s for an answer. In fact, by the time Bilbo was left alone he was the proud owner of a hot cup of chamomile tea and a warm meat pie- on the house, of course.

“Will,” Bilbo chuckled, biting into the little pie with relish. “you’re too good to me.”

“Nonsense!” Bilbo looked up as the kitchen master –and William’s wife, mind you- came bustling out of the kitchen with the rosiest cheeks and an apron on. “Bilbo, you rascal, you stay cooped up all by yourself with no wife to look after you! The least I can do is make my good-for-nothing husband here show you some good Green Dragon hospitality! Eat up, love, and get warm again.”

“Don’t baby him, Molly,” Bilbo couldn’t help but chuckle when he innkeeper and his lovely cook shared a quick kiss. “Bilbo’s a fine hobbit. If he’s _ever_ in want of a lady, I’ll shave my feet!” To make his point, William Proudfoot threw one shaggy foot high and the couple laughed at the mass of thick curls for a little while, and then they were back to business and Bilbo had his silence.

And his letter.

Taking it out of his jacket, Bilbo regarded the letter nervously and wondered if he shouldn’t just march himself back home and leave it in the fire. It certainly wouldn’t be a strange occurrence; if he brunt the letter, it would be like he had never written it.

However, Smaug would not be so easily disposed of. The threat of a dragon in his smials was too big to ignore, literally- how could he trust Smaug not to grow cross with him and melt the flesh right off his frail little hobbit bones?

Feeling a little faint, as he had when Bofur described it long ago, Bilbo signaled one of the young hobbits working for the Proudfoots and gave them the letter quietly.

“Where is it headed, sir?” The girl asked curiously, having heard stories about Mister Bilbo Baggins of Bag End.

Bilbo looked into the fire. “To the city under the Lonely Mountain.” He waved away any other questions with a grunt, just the utterance of the name enough to bring back the images in full force.

The fine emerald stone, the rivers and mountains of gold, jewels and precious treasures in the deep, deep dark; the way Balin blew smoke rings with him after a good meal; Fili and Kili’s identical good humors and constant teasing grins; Bifur’s nonsensical grunts and hand signs. The look in Thorin’s eyes when he-   
Bilbo stood up suddenly, grim, and took his leave of the cheery inn with his tea gone and the little treat safely in his stomach.

He braced himself for the bitter cold, stuffing his hands back under his arms, and soon he was chilled to the bone and struggling through deep snow to reach his little bedroom window again and dig out an entrance for himself. He dug and dug, ignoring the sharp stinging in his hands until his fingers grew numb and a little tunnel had been made.

Pulling open the window, Bilbo scooted backwards until his rear was in the room and let go, falling to his floor with a ‘thunk’ and a small avalanche of snow behind him. Bilbo groaned, stiff and cold and so glad to be home, and couldn’t bring himself to move until a cold breeze ate through him and his stomach gurgled ravenously.

Struggling to his feet and feeling ice cold, Bilbo strained to close his window and dust himself off, feeling the cloth against his skin only slightly. He grimaced as his fingers tingled, the pins and needles heralding a wave of burning and aching, and struggled out of his snow-soaked jacket and trousers. He threw on his robe, tying the belt tight, and shivered briefly as he crossed his room on frigid feet.

“I’m never doing something so _Tookish_ again...” He muttered, rubbing his hands together and clenching his teeth against the prickling in his skin. “That was _ridiculous_!”

Throwing open his door, Bilbo stepped out into the hall, his gaze held high, and tripped over a big bump that was haunting his bedroom threshold silently. He cried out in surprise, falling forward, but suddenly Bilbo was face up and clutched in two strong arms.

“Thiefling!” Smaug’s booming voice shocked the hobbit stiff after the muted quiet of the snow outside and the fear of attack from earlier. He squeaked wordlessly in reply, too frightened to struggle, and his feet left the ground under Smaug’s power. No warning given, Bilbo was spun slightly and he clutched the dragon’s shoulders tightly as he adjusted his grip on him and shifted his position. Smaug balanced him on his hip like a child –their size difference was enough for it to work comfortably-, a rumble building in his chest, and the hobbit spluttered wordlessly as he began to rub his cheeks against Bilbo’s face and neck.

“L-Let go of me~” Bilbo shouted, struggling futilely. The man’s grip was iron shackles and the little hobbit was no match for it. “Smaug! Put me _down_!” Bilbo’s grip on his houseguest’s shoulders slipped as they dropped their tense position and he grimaced as Smaug sniffled and snuffed against his skin noisily like he was some fresh-baked pie or pastry. However, despite his sniffing, Smaug seemed content with his abrasive assault on the hobbit’s neck and left cheek.

Frustrated, Bilbo shoved at the dragon’s cheek, catching a bit of his hair to try and hold him back, but the greasy strands slipped through his fingers until a tangle became a knot.

“Hold _still_!” Bilbo ordered, leaning as far as he could from his suddenly-affectionate guest. “Your hair is tangled!” Smaug kept pulling and tugging, a grimace growing on his face, and Bilbo fisted his hand and pulled hard to make a point to him. The curls under the rest tugged hard at the nape of his neck, making him freeze, and slowly Smaug shifted to allow Bilbo access t the knot.

He pressed his straight nose into the dips in Bilbo’s collarbone, his face warm against the hobbit’s cold, cold skin, and he sighed softly as Bilbo set to work with his hair. He engaged his other hand; carefully weaving the dirty curls in and out of one another until his fingers developed a rhythm, they slowly began to unwind under his nimble digits.

And Bilbo was having trouble concentrating with Smaug’s hot breath tickling his neck and shoulder like it was.

“...I believe I was a tad excessive.”

"Pardon me?!" Bilbo's fingers stumbled over one another at the sentence muffled by his throat. Smaug pulled away, seeming to think Bilbo hadn't heard him, but the hobbit quickly chided him back into position. With his face in Bilbo's neck, Smaug couldn't give him that intimidating stare.

"I... _regret_ frightening you, thiefling." Smaug mumbled, his voice lower than Bilbo had thought possible for that booming sound. "You were no quarry to be hunted, and your fear gave me no pleasure."

"I-I-I should hope not!" Bilbo blurted, biting the inside of his cheek nervously. "That was a _terrible_ thing to do, scaring me like that! I thought you were going to roast me alive and make me _second breakfast_!"

Smaug pulled away again, locking eyes with Bilbo determinedly, and the hobbit froze. Smaug was so close and their breaths mingled in the lack of space between them.   
Smaug's forehead touched his own. "I would _never_."

Unable to think of anything to say, Bilbo ducked his head and blushed heavily.


	15. Earn It Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I would never."  
> Unable to think of anything to say, Bilbo ducked his head and blushed heavily.

Smaug’s declaration was endearing -Bilbo felt his heart melt a little from its earlier cold fear- but the hobbit stood fast. He wasn't about to let the dragon huff and puff and then sidle back up to his good side again. Bilbo leaned back, scowling at Smaug deeply, and he wriggled in the dragon’s grasp resolutely.

“Put me down.”

Bilbo could see it in Smaug's eyes; why should he put him down? He dared the dragon not to comply, crossing his arms over his little chest, and the greedy glint died only until the turn of his head exposed the tiny plait behind his ear.

"What is this?" Smaug caught it between two slender fingers, untucking it from its hiding place and exposing the silver clip to the light. His breath hissed inwards, so serpentine in his disapproval, but Bilbo reclaimed the braid and tucked it back behind his pointed ear seriously.

"It's a braid I received before I left Erebor." Bilbo told him honestly. "I am a dwarf-friend, and this is that mark, among other things." He saw Smaug's eyes flicker across his exposed skin searchingly, though he remained silent to hear Bilbo speak, and the hobbit patted his face to get the man's attention.

He looked up. "Where-?"

"My winter coat bears the crest of Erebor across the back." Bilbo told him. "My name is chronicled in their halls. ‘The people of Erebor will not bandy with my name lightly.'" Bilbo couldn't help but smile at the idea that a hobbit would be so famous among the dwarves. "Things like that."

"I see." Smaug muttered, still holding Bilbo tightly.

"Then put me down." Bilbo insisted, trying to keep his new smile in place.

“If you’ve broken ranks with Oakenshield, why maintain such trinkets?” Smaug was insatiable, and Bilbo’s heart dropped like a stone.

“I may have left because of that fool, but I won’t disregard the others so lightly.” Bilbo explained, “Their friendships with me hold, even if I burned my bridges with their leader.” The hobbit was surprised with his own bitterness, but couldn’t deny that the dwarf king had earned every venomous scrap of it. How dare he break his promise and expect Bilbo to remain; he knew what the gold and the King’s Jewel would do.

“Then why not simply undo this?” Smaug twirled the plait around one finger. “It serves no purpose the others do not from your description…”

“I like it.” Bilbo leaned away from the touch. “it’s something I value.”

“Hm…” Smaug stared hard at the glittering clasp until Bilbo’s uncomfortable squirming against his hipbone broke his concentration. “this plait seems most practical, for all it’s dwarf origins.”

“I agree,” Bilbo scowled again and shoved him. “now put me down!”

“I should much like some, thiefling.” Smaug said resolutely, tossing his head to demonstrate the great lengths of unbound curls to him. “My hair seems to be in distress.”

Bilbo stared at Smaug seriously as his hair filled his field of vision and his lips twitched when he saw that his hair was in _great_ distress. Greasy and long, it hung around him like a great shaggy mane and shone with oil in the hall lights. “Good gracious, it is.” Bilbo grumbled, running a hand through the curls and coming away with slippery fingers. ”You can’t look like this when Lily comes, or she’ll think you’re some kind of loony.”

“‘Lily’?” Smaug frowned as well. “Who is ‘Lily’? Explain this to me, thiefling. What manner of creature have you brought into our little mountain, thief?”

“Lily is a _fine_ hobbit!” Bilbo protested, finally wriggling free of his houseguest’s grasp. He fell to the floor, his rump hitting hard, and he raised an eyebrow at the dragon.

“’Hobbit’?” Smaug repeated curiously. “What is a ‘hobbit’?”

“ _I’m_ a hobbit!” Bilbo scoffed, getting to his feet and letting a cold shiver run through him. He could still feel the snow on his bare feet, the icy chill of the wind on his face, and he grimaced faintly at it.

“No, you are a thief; a burglar; my little thiefling.” Smaug didn’t believe him, and Bilbo sighed.

“I was a burglar by profession. I am a hobbit- a halfing. You know, Shire folk. Are _you_ a calamity?”

Smaug snorted, throwing his shoulders back. “No, I’m a _dragon_.” His posturing made Bilbo stare; he needed his wings to complete it, but the proud jutting of his chest was not missed.

"Exactly," Bilbo straightened his robe and dusted it off sourly. "Lily and I are hobbits -respectable hobbits, mind you- and I won't have you looking like a tramp when she comes for a visit! Come on!" Shuffling down his hallway on aching feet, Bilbo waved Smaug along after him without any chance of refusal. He sauntered into the main bathroom seriously, turning both nozzles and kick-starting the water with expert precision, and Smaug lingered behind him uncertainly as he ran a tub full of water.

“What sorcery are you working, little thief?” Smaug hissed, his eyes narrowed as he approached cautiously. “I was unaware that your little mountain had access to the springs below.” He peered over Bilbo’s shoulder anxiously, barely stepping aside to let him move past again, and raised an eyebrow at the hobbit’s departure. “Where are you going?”

“To get towels.” Bilbo said shortly. “And another pair of pants.” He didn’t respond to any of the other questions, too focuses on what he was doing, and soon he had returned to his bedroom and closed the door.

‘ _What am I going to do?_ ’ He asked himself. ‘ _Bathe a dragon in man form? Preposterous. What could I do?_ ’ Shaking his curly head at the idea of it, Bilbo tugged at the tie of his robe to pull on a new pair of trousers and a fresh shirt. He felt ridiculous, assuming he could just clean the dragon up and get him and their patched-up ‘friendship’ presentable for when Lily shows up, and he felt even more ridiculous for thinking that Smaug would let him do either of those things.

Slowly Bilbo worked his stiff limbs into the new clothes, his hands shaking a little, and he took a lot longer than he’d expected to put them all on again. He needed to change his pants, since they were soaked with snow as well, and as soon as he slid his trousers up over them he could feel the warmth that a second layer gave him. It also showed him just how cold he really was; his skin was almost entirely numb to the softness of the fabric.

Cursing his own cold skin, Bilbo picked out a shirt and struggled into it harshly, his joints aching and his entire body becoming alive again with the burning sensation of life. He forwent the laces of his shirt, leaving it open and letting the warm air of his hobbit hole flow between his skin and the cotton to help him warm up faster.

That and his fingers were beginning to get so sore that he could hardly do them up.

“I hate the cold!” Bilbo snorted sourly, rubbing his arms with his hands to get his blood flowing again. “Cold… wet… ugh!”

“Thiefling?” Smaug’s voice snapped him out of his grumbling and complaining to himself. He stopped in his tracks and looked up, his eyes suddenly wide, and he jumped a little when he saw his houseguest standing there where he didn’t expect him. “You are lingering… I believe the water cools if you wish to continue with your bathing ritual.”

He laughed at the idea, although the more he thought about it the better it sounded, and he sauntered back toward the bathroom. He let Smaug follow, too close for comfort, and led the dragon all the way back to the bathroom where the bathtub was waiting.

“ _My_ bathing ritual?” Bilbo snorted, ruffling his own hair and snuffling slightly. “No, no, this bath is _yours_.” He held the door open as Smaug passed, wanting nothing more than to curl up by a fire, but as quickly as he was in the dragon was out of the bathroom.

“NO!” Smaug was not up for that. “I AM _NOT_ GETTING IN THAT _MONSTROSITY_ , THIEFLING! YOU _CANNOT_ MAKE ME!”

“I very well _can_!” Bilbo shouted back, fisting one hands at his side and waving an accusing finger at him angrily. “You will not embarrass me in front of my neighbors!” He turned around, trying to grab at the flapping front of his most recently-ruined shirt, but the dragon was quick and he dodged out of the way before Bilbo could come close. “Smaug, come here!”

“NO!” The dragon’s voice was already way down the hall. “YOU CAN’T _MAKE_ ME!” His footsteps were obvious and you could hear him make his way _far_ from Bilbo, and Bilbo’s temper took a turn for the worst.

“COME BACK HERE!” Bilbo took off running, his body protesting the sudden strain almost immediately. “SMAUG!” He tried following his ears, the pitter-patter of his feet nearly drowned out by the louder footsteps, but his hobbit hole was echoing with them and it was almost-totally impossible. “STOP ACTING LIKE A BABY!” He demanded. “IT’S _JUST_ WATER!”

“Water!” Smaug repeated derisively, “’ _Just_ water’! Are you _utterly_ insane?! _I_ AM A _DRAGON_! WATER IS _DEATH_!” His silhouette briefly passed the mouth of a hallway, his shadow unmistakable, but when Bilbo chased it he disappeared.

“I’m not going to _drown_ you!” Bilbo said insistently, trying to stop their shouting. “I’m just-“

“LIES!” Smaug roared, unseen but definitely close by. “YOU _LIE_!”

“Why would I lie?!” Bilbo’s heart beat fast. “Smaug, you’re acting crazy! What reason could I have to-“ “YOU WANT ME OUT! I AM _NOT_ WELCOME HERE, AND YOU WOULD OUST ME AT _FIRST_ OPPORTUNITY!” Smaug’s paranoia was not unjustified, but Bilbo was insulted all the same. Hobbits were known and respected for their hospitality and good will to their house and dinner guests, and Smaug’s complaint was the social version of a disaster. “I SEE YOUR WILES, THIEFLING!”

“’Wiles’?” Bilbo’s throat hurt from all his shouting. “Smaug, you said yourself that your hair is not good. It’s greasy and tangled, and much too long. I am _just_ trying to help!” His voice cracked near the end and Bilbo coughed a little. “Let’s stop this now… I promise I’ll be quick.”

“Indeed, you would.” Slinking around the corner with his eyes narrow slits, the dragon in man form approached him warily. “Why should I trust you, thiefling?” He stood tall, towering over Bilbo imposingly, but the hobbit stood firm in the face of his posturing.

“Because,” Bilbo said firmly. “who else will you trust?” He refused to look away from Smaug’s golden eyes frowning at his houseguest’s distrust, and suddenly the glare disappeared and he leaned into Bilbo’s personal space without reserve.

“Tricky, thief, _very_ tricky.” He grumbled.

“But no less true.” Bilbo said daringly. “I am your host for the time being, and _you_ chose _me_ , don’t forget.” He wasn’t giving up the little squabbles; he had a _chance_ of winning those. “I didn’t show up and drag you here. _You_ tracked _me_ down.”

Smaug sniffed. “Your riddles intrigued me.”

“Uh-huh.” Bilbo put both hands on his hips and raised an eyebrow.

“Do not _patronize_ me, thiefling.” Smaug said lowly. “I do not like it.”

“Then don’t _shout_ at me.” Bilbo snapped back, toeing the line in his mind that lay between them. “ _I_ don’t like it _either_.”

“I will not be ordered about by you, thief!” Smaug puffed out his chest and stared down his nose at Bilbo, making his knees quiver.

“I must say the same!” Bilbo could feel himself crossing that invisible line now and sweat beaded on the back of his neck. “Don’t boss me about! I am not your slave!”

“Aren’t you?” Smaug’s question was the last straw.

“NO, I’M NOT!” Bilbo declared, waving a finger in front of the dragon’s face. “I AM YOUR HOST! YOU ARE MY GUEST! AND MY NEIGHBORS AND I THOUGHT-“ Bilbo stopped himself and, screwing up his face, turned his back on the dragon. “never mind. Do as you like, oh _ _.”

“What?” Smaug asked, curiosity piqued. “What is it, thief?” He circled Bilbo like a tiger ready to pounce, his curiosity dusting the anger from his brow like salt on a ledge, and his enthusiasm was almost innocent enough to melt Bilbo’s resolve. “Tell me, thiefling, what is it?”

“No.” Bilbo said sharply, not noticing when Smaug flinched back from the razor edge to his usually-jolly voice. “It doesn’t matter. Go… wash your hair, or something.” Waving a hand dismissively at his guest, Bilbo tried to walk away from a bad situation, but found his fingers suddenly wrapped in warmer ones and his entire little hand enclosed in warm skin.  
He looked back at Smaug and bumped foreheads with him again. “Ow!”

“Thiefling…” Smaug tossed his limp hair out of his face, frowning at it momentarily, and focused his eyes on Bilbo. “I do not know how.” His gold eyes are wide, locked with his, and Bilbo sighs heavily as his tense shoulders drop and he gives in to the pleading amber stare.

“Alright, you big lizard,” Bilbo grumbled, leading Smaug back to the bathroom by the hand trapped in the dragon’s grasp. “I’ll help you _just_ this once.” He doubts it will really be ‘just this once’, and he sighs at the idea of washing Smaug’s hair every few days but doesn’t doubt that it will probably happen.

“Hm.” Smaug’s little affirmative noise rolls through the bathroom air, making Bilbo loll his head in acknowledgement, and the hobbit gathers a few soaps from his cupboard reluctantly. Should he try and find something unscented? Would the dragon disapprove of the flowery scents or the fruity foams? Should he just skip them all and dive for the woodier soaps?

However, before he could really give it thought there was a great splashing and a wave of warm water lapped at his hairy heels. Bilbo jumped, giving a small yelp, and turned to see Smaug getting comfortable in the too-small basin, fully-clothed, and his fear and surprise turned into a great laugh.

Smaug looked up, frowning. “What?”

“You take off your clothes first!” Bilbo cackled, clutching his sides at the sopping wet shirt clinging to his houseguest and how much of a trial it would be to try and change afterwards. “What are you _doing_?!”

“I’m bathing.” Smaug snorted and held his head high. “You fleshy mortals are so fond of your coverings that…” Bilbo swore pink crawled across the dragon’s face, but suddenly a wave of dark hair blocked his view. “Are you going to help me or not?” Smaug muttered.

“Oh, calm down.” Bilbo’s laugh disappeared. He swept a bottle of soap off the sink and shrugged it off as the best option as he approached the dragon in his bathtub. “I was just finding something to wash it with. No need to get _snippy_ , Mister ‘I-am-fire’.” He quickly rolled up his sleeves high, firmly putting the soap in Smaug’s unoccupied hands and taking it back just as quickly.

“I am not ‘snippy’.” Smaug said lowly, something Bilbo could only think of as a pout, but he couldn’t quite equate pouting with the greatest calamity of his age. “I am merely cross with sitting in this tiny lake.”

“Well, I wasn’t the one who got you in the tub now, am I?” Bilbo said cheekily, working up a bit of lather with the soap and the bathwater absently. He wasn’t really paying attention to Smaug yet, but he didn’t feel like he needed to. “I just brought you in here to get ready. You didn’t even _have_ to get in it; we just need to fix your hair.”

“Well, I wasn’t the one who got you in the tub now, am I?” Bilbo said cheekily, working up a bit of lather with the soap and the bathwater absently. He wasn’t really paying attention to Smaug yet, but he didn’t feel like he needed to. “I just brought you in here to get ready. You didn’t even _have_ to get in it; we just need to fix your hair.”

“ _Now_ you tell me!” Throwing up his hands in an utterly human gesture, Smaug sank low in the water, sloshing it all over the floor, and Bilbo spluttered as one wave caught him by surprise.

“Oi!” He blurted, “Watch it! No splashing!”

“What are you going to do? Stop me?” Another splash soaked Bilbo’s shirt through and he fumed quietly, not warm enough to be able to really disregard being soaked long enough to wash the dragon’s hair to respectable standards

“Would you stop being a pain?” Bilbo asked, his tone sugary-sweet. “Just this once?”

“I’d rather not, actually,” Smaug purred back, his smile wicked. He wasn’t sorry; not in the least. “I’m rather _enjoying_ myself.”

“Of course you are,” Bilbo sighed, “Why wouldn’t you be?” Feeling a wave of childish humor take him, Bilbo leaned in and got his guest right in his smugly-smiling face with a hobbit’s handful of warm bath water. Smaug dropped his smug smile immediately, shocked, and Bilbo laughed- he looked like he had slapped him across the face.

Suddenly, another wave caught Bilbo’s curls and his retaliation got his wetter than ever. A glint passed between them in a brief moment of eye contact and, drawn to the challenge, they splashed each other until the bath water was all but spent.

“There.” Smaug grunted, pushing at Bilbo’s head to get his attention away from his drenched clothes. “The water is gone.”

“But your hair is _still_ disgusting,” Bilbo pointed out. “and now the whole room is soaked.”

A droplet fell in the silence between them, impossibly loud.

“Oh…” Smaug looked a little pale. “well then, refill the bath, thiefling.” He got comfortable in the porcelain basin, looking quite content with his new white throne, and Bilbo scowled.  
And then he turned the cold water tap as far as he could in one turn, sending a rocket of icy fluid all over Smaug’s lap and chest.

“COLD!” Smaug scrambled to the far end of the tub, balancing and lifting himself out of the water by bracing his feet and hands on the edge of the bathtub like a spider or a crab. “ _COLD!_ _THIIIEEEEFFF!_ ”

Bilbo turned it off. “Yes?” His smile was uncharacteristically wicked, and Smaug stared at him for a moment, taken aback and absolutely done playing with him. “Is something wrong?”

“You…” Smaug’s teeth chattered as he flipped over, clenching his hands on the rim of the tub. “are _most_ iniquitous. How your species survives, I know not.”

“Oh, ouch. Well then,” Bilbo shrugged, ringing his shirtfront out calmly and wrung out his longer curls. “I suppose you can wash your own hair.” Smaug froze, rearing back a little as he watched Bilbo nonchalantly wrap himself in a fluffy towel and step back a bit, putting more than arm’s reach between them. He waited nd waited for Bilbo to come back, thinking he could intimidate the hobbit into the task, but as he puffed out his chest Bilbo only got farther away.

“Thiefling…” Smaug stopped Bilbo’s retreat and waited uneasily for him to take the towel off his curly head, spilling the ringlets around his face like handfuls of crisp autumn leaves. “wash my hair.”

“No.” Bilbo rubbed his curls with his towel again, distracting Smaug’s focus for a moment. “I don’t want to.”

“What do you mean, ‘no’?!” Smaug blurted, leaning so far over the edge that it was surprising that he didn’t-  
Smaug howled shortly as his balance failed him and, losing his grip on te slippery tub, Smaug fell forward and hit the floor hard. He crumpled onto the flor, hi feet still hooked o the rim, and groaned once in the shock-laden silence- the sound drew itself out across the space between them and Bilbo choked.

“OH MY SMIALS!” He was there in a flash, concern lacing his eyes with diamond tears. “ARE YOU ALRIGHT?!” His small hands fluttered around him uselessly, shaking with worry, and for all his sassy talk Bilbo was useless until the dragon spoke.

“ _I_ am fine.” Smaug mumbled, curling up his sinewy body and pushing himself up on his hands with a wince. His weight shifted –Bilbo could see it- and he let his right arm bear all his weight as subtly as he could without making the pain obvious.

“No,” Bilbo reached out and Smaug shied away, giving Bilbo his right side like an injured animal. Smaug babied his left arm. “your left shoulder hit _hard_. Let me see.”

“Nonsense.” Smaug snorted and tossed his head, the thick mat of wet hair slapping against his back, and Bilbo snorted in return when the hit made the dragon twitch. “ _I_ am Smaug. _I_ am a _dragon_. _I_ am-“

“Oh, stop it.” Bilbo got close and fisted a hand in the dark strands firmly to prevent Smaug from getting away. He tugged, drawing a growl from his houseguest, and suddenly Smaug was sitting in front of him and Bilbo had a knee on either side of his hips. He tugged again, the growl fading into the next, and Bilbo forced the dragon to lean back enough for him to see his shoulder blade properly. “I just…” He stood up and pulled the hair to one side. “want to see…” The red mark made him wince, his fingers hesitating above the warm skin. “if you’re hurt.”

Smaug froze, the red skin tensing, and Bilbo winced with him this time. His shoulder was already quite red and, if it already looked extremely painful, Bilbo couldn’t imagine the pain that it must actually have been causing him. “You should be _screaming_!” Bilbo murmured, struck dumb by the dragon’s resilience.

Smaug just made a disgruntled noise and turned his head a little, his shoulders hunched. “I must correct you. I am quite capable of tolerating a simple stumble.” He didn’t resist in the struggle any more than a scowl and he didn’t flinch when Bilbo laid his hand on the swollen skin, but the hobbit felt his body shudder under his hand. “I am merely…”

“Whatever you say, oh Smaug the Magnificent.” Bilbo didn’t let the dragon find the word he was looking for. “Let’s just get you dry. Your hair will be clean enough with all the water we used.” The hobbit traded sheltering the man for fetching some towels, and soon Smaug was drier than Bilbo was and he had a set of new clothes to ruin in order to get dry.

“Now, just stay by the fire and I’ll make something to eat.” Bilbo said quickly, running another damp towel over himself to stop the dripping, and he hurried toward the door with it draped over his head. “You just… don’t work your arm. You should keep it still and rest it!”

“I don’t want anything.” Smaug’s fist in his shirt stopped him cold and Bilbo tensed.

He had openly-mocked Smaug.  
And doused him in cold water.  
 _And_ kept defying him over and over again!

“Uh…” Bilbo turned back and looked at him over his shoulder hesitantly, his hands still as stones.

“Come…” Smaug said quietly. “stay with me by the fire.” He looked up at Bilbo, the gold hue of his eyes changed by the shadow of his thick lashes, and, in the pause pregnant with tension, he licked his lips. “Stay with me?”

Bilbo’s shoulders dropped. Smaug had to be kidding; this was some scheme to lull him down, and then he was going to get it for being such an arrogant thief. Bilbo didn’t trust him; he _couldn’t_. Not after Erebor…

“Alright,” Bilbo said softly, smiling a little.  
Could he?


	16. Nursemaid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am actually SO sorry for how long it took to crank this out! I rewrote it so many times, and then I got side-tracked with life, and I totally forgot about fanfiction for a while. Moving out while in high school is really hard, but I promise to finish this story asap!

After that, Bilbo wasn’t sure where he stood with the dragon anymore. He could be calm, and docile, and as harmless as a lamb at one point, but a false move could turn him wilder than a dog. Those wrongs usually had something to do with Erebor or Thorin, but Bilbo could never be sure what would send the dragon into a fit of furious possession. He would be seething mad, and clutch Bilbo’s arms tight even if he promised he’d stay, and sometimes he’d drift off like that, his sharp gold eyes dulling as he went to sleep.

The hobbit didn’t know what to do by the time they were both hungry enough to venture to the kitchen. Smaug was all over him, like a fresh coat of paint, and it was madness trying to cook with the dragon constantly wedging himself close and interfering with everything. He was fidgeting with the curls in his hair, pulling at the corners of his clothes, and _constantly_ fingering the little clasp around his dwarfish braid. And with the chill ever-present in his bones, Bilbo didn’t have much of a good humor to let Smaug have his ways with everything.

He went to bed as early as he could, retiring to his bedroom with an armful of good tales, and he locked the door behind him resolutely. He knew Smaug was watching him as he made his way down the hall, and he knew Smaug would have heard his little latch click into place, but he was frustrated and dissatisfied and most likely getting ill, so he didn’t quite care.

He sank into the Tales of the Brothers Grimm, his drowsy mind brimming with tales and terrors and he fell to Sleep’s blade wandering the forests in search of monsters, mayhem, and adventure.  
As if he hadn’t already had his fill of adventure.

* * *

Bilbo slept deeply that night, his body needing the rest, and when he woke up at noon the next day he groaned at the aches in his weary old bones. He felt as though he’d been trampled by a troupe of trolls, and his head was throbbing to the beat of a war drum. Rolling onto his side weakly, Bilbo whined low in his throat and, hearing a scraping at his door, he groaned louder.

“Go away…” He had to pause for breath when he run out, coughing, and he groaned again. “I’m dying.”

Bilbo didn’t expect the door to burst inwards and swing in on the squealing hinges, so he jumped and nearly choked on his own harsh breath. Bilbo caught himself on the edge of his bed, struggling for a good breath of air, and Smaug’s face flooded his field of vision.

“Thiefling?” He whispered, his pupils dilated more than healthy. “Thiefling, you do not _smell_ of death.” His softest voice yet bashed Bilbo’s skull in, crippling him with a headache, and the hobbit whimpered as he pulled his covers over his head to hide from his houseguest. “You cannot be dying yet, little thief, or my nose would speak of it. I will not let you.”

“Hnng…” Bilbo responded weakly, not at all comforted by the fact that Smaug couldn’t smell the fiend that was surely taking him on to the next life. His entirety was clammy and quivering, and Bilbo couldn’t rustle up the gumption to cross his bedroom and light the fire. “…’m cold.”

“No.” Smaug thought quite the opposite. His large hand fell to Bilbo’s forehead, blinding him for a short while. “You are very _warm_ , thiefling. I do not conceive this change to be beneficial to you, or your tiny little body.”

Bilbo insisted, “I’m cold, Smaug,” He tucked the thicker portion of the covers, shivering faintly, but the dragon ripped them away from him again. He groaned, curling his legs up close to his little body, and groaned again as Smaug tugged him over the edge of the bed and into his arms. He began to shiver.

“You are _too_ hot, thiefling!” Smaug hissed, whisking him away across the vast plain of his bedroom and into the bathroom. Bilbo fisted his hands in the ruined cotton of his old midsummer shirt and wriggled faintly, his world spinning in the dragon’s grasp, and held tightly to his guest as he let one arm fiddle with the small taps. “Illness has taken you, little one! What idiocy have you risked yourself in so recently?!”

“…I went out…” Bilbo managed, his teeth chattering fiercely now. “I needed to get away.” He said the first thing that came out of his mouth, his face hot now and his entire body covered in feverish sweat. “I couldn’t stay here…”

Smaug stiffened, the hand he’d busied with the tap frozen, and he looked down at the hobbit in his arms. “Then why did you return, little thief?” He watched the tiny figure loll in his arms, going limp, and he shook the hobbit slightly. “Thiefling?”

“Mmm…” Bilbo’s eyelids didn’t flicker. “cold…”

“Thief?” Smaug felt his fleshy stomach tighten anxiously, his grip going a little slack, and suddenly Bilbo was pressed tight to his chest so that the burn of his paling skin seeped through the flimsy cotton between them. He wasn’t hot, but he was clammy and he struggled to breathe; Smaug let his grip slacken slightly, rubbing the space between his shoulders and feeling the birdlike frailty of his shoulder bones. He was so small, so feeble in comparison to him, and when he shifted Smaug cradled him like a shining gem. His eyes were glued to Bilbo’s blank and sweaty face, and he winced as the hobbit’s breathing panned out to harsh whistling and shallow gasps. “Thiefling… can you hear me?!”

“…” Bilbo’s labored breathing was all that filled the silence. Hissing with annoyance, Smaug pressed the little creature close to him and pulled a tongue of flame up into his throat to heat his chest cavity with it. Bilbo squirmed sluggishly but did not protest, and soon Smaug was sitting in the bathtub again with the hobbit bundled onto his lap and the two of them mostly submerged in the hot bathwater.

He would warm him by other means, considering licks of flame would do only more ill, and then he would keep him as any dragon would. Nice, and safe, and forever; the little hobbit would never get sick again if Smaug had his way.

Bilbo shifted restlessly and Smaug brushed their cheeks together faintly, letting his growl rumble in his chest, easing his troubles. The tiny creature stilled, his breathing loud as Smaug brought his ear close, and he let his shoulders drop with a watery splash. Bilbo was breathing easier, even if his nose was running terribly, and the watery sheen on his lashes was not salty enough to be pained tears.

He coughed once, seeming to come around, but after one glance at Smaug his eyes slid closed again. He went slack in the dragon’s arms, stiffening only for a few coughs here and there that made him wince, and snuffled and snorted as he slept uneasily. The dragon watching over him moved very little, accommodating the smaller man cradled in his grasp, and the silence between them was pregnant with unspoken tension.

Bilbo had left, obviously driven away by their conflict and his anger, but he had returned to the tiny mound of soil and tunnels after a few hours and had buckled down for the shenanigans in the bathroom. Smaug couldn’t understand why he would leave because he couldn’t stand him, but then return to bend to his whims and fancies again.

_“…I went out…” Bilbo’s voice quivered fiercely. “I needed to get away. I couldn’t stay here…” He was so fragile- illness had already rendered him inert._

“Little thief,” Smaug mumbled, adjusting his grip. “I know not why you returned… I could _crush_ you, should I wish it.” He caught sight of Bilbo’s nose twitching like a rabbit’s, and expected retaliation, but the hobbit did not stir. “You are so delicate, and yet… like a mithril shirt.”

“Mithril?” Bilbo mused suddenly, his lips curling upward in a little smile as he came around. “I had a mithril shirt… so pretty. I put it away…”

“Where?” Smaug didn’t want the hobbit asking questions. He was _not_ going soft! “Why? I has such value-“

“My second cousin just had a baby.” Bilbo’s eves crinkled at the corners as his smile widened. “A boy… Frodo Baggins. I want to keep it for him, for when he comes of age.” He turned a little, enjoying the warmth, and sighed faintly. “He’s such a beautiful little boy…”

Smaug made a noncommittal noise and brought another lick of flame into his throat- the bath water had cooled. He had never heard tell of this nephew, not in all Bilbo’s anxious ramblings, but the fondness and yearning for the little boy was clear, and at that moment Smaug felt something sink in his stomach, something nauseating and foul and unrecognizable.

Smaug the Terrible, the Greatest Calamity of the Age, felt guilty.

“Recently?” Smaug enquired, cocking his head. “Was he born recently?”

“A week or so before you arrived…” Bilbo nodded, sighing, “I was getting around to see him, but…”

“I came.” The feeling in Smaug’s stomach did not diminish. “My arrival must have put quite the stopper in your plans, little thief.”

“Mhm,” Bilbo shrugged against his ribs, barely a nudge, and coughed a bit. Seeing no alternate conversation, Smaug got out of the tub and shook himself briefly before he bundled Bilbo into one if his thick fluffy towels and left the bathroom entirely. He listened to the hobbit mumble sleepily in his grasp, not really awake still, and curled up under his mountain of plush covers and shining duvets until Bilbo's breathing evened out. He remained watchful as sleep took the little creature, even when sleep tempted him, and eventually Bilbo roused himself enough to squirm.

"Smaug?" He rasped, looking confused as his eyebrows furrowed together. "Why am I in a towel?"

"You ill, thiefling." Smaug told him seriously. "Soaking in the warm water was for your welfare. Desist from squirming." To Smaug's surprise, Bilbo did. He paused, looking at Smaug strangely as if he'd never seen him before, and then looked way with vague concern etched into the bags under his eyes. With nothing else to say, Smaug decided to point that out. "You look terrible, thiefling."

"Do I?" Bilbo jumped a little, running a hand through his nappy curls and touching the dark circles lightly. "Ugh, I should get up."

"No!" Smaug protested, shaking his head and tightening his grip. "You will stay at rest, little thief, or I shall make you!"

"I have mail to check, and I have to tidy up," Bilbo said lamely, looking for an excuse. "and who will feed you if I'm in bed all day?"

"I shall fetch your 'mail'." Smaug declared haughtily, "This _tidying_ can wait. And I am certainly capable of pursuing game for both of us. You WILL remain in the nest, thief." Meeting Bilbo's eyes, the dragon dared his smaller host to protest the arrangement and fight back, his golden eyes gleaming for the challenge, but Bilbo's face paled a little and he sighed heavily as he sank back into the warmth.

"...Alright." He admitted defeat and pulled the blankets a little closer. "I could use the rest..."

“Indeed.” Smaug hovered uncomfortably, too used to solitude to really make any conversation, and soon the hobbit’s eyes drifted back open. “I… the mail?”

“In the box out front.” Bilbo told him gently, “Beside the gate. You’ll see it.” He blinked, amused by how quickly the dragon fled his presence to do as he’d said, and he heard the front to smack against the wall as his houseguest threw it open harshly to dive out into the elements. He chuckled hoarsely to himself, sinking down into his covers a little and struggling to pull the towel out from under him as smoothly as he could. He had only just succeeded and dropped it to the floor when Smaug burst back into the room like a force of nature, a shower of melting snowflakes shaking from his hair, and dropped the stack of letters into his blanketed lap.

“MAIL!” Smaug proclaimed, “Thiefling, I have procured your post as required! What matters require such urgencies from your relatively close offspring and kin?!” He regarded the stack with obvious dislike. “Have there been a great deal of _deaths_?!”

“No,” Bilbo choked on a laugh and coughed harshly, his throat dry. “no, it’s probably nothing like that.” He tugged out the knot the postman had made in the twine binding his mail together and smiled as his cousin’s handwriting fell into view. “Primula loves to write me, and it’s most likely about my nephew.”

“The Frodo?”

“My Frodo.” Bilbo smiled dazedly at his houseguest, snuffling as he slipped a finger behind the wax seal and pulled out the first letter. Out poured adulations of the baby, and a few hurried sketches the father had done of them both, but Bilbo wanted to _see_ them both and he wanted to do it soon. Bilbo’s sigh must have given it away.

“Thieflng, are you hungry?” Or maybe not. “Your seven-meal schedule has hardly been kept to in the past days.” Smaug was quick to glaze over the fact that _he_ had been the cause in the last few days, but Bilbo couldn’t exactly fault the person tending him for it. His stomach groaned at the mention of food and Bilbo made a similar noise. Smaug lifted his chin a little higher and pushed his shoulder back. “I shall bring it to you. Remain here and await my return.”

“Oh no!”  Bilbo coughed, throwing back the covers and swinging his hairy feet over the edge. “No, no, no, no, _no_! Not in _my_ kitchen!” He struggled for breath, blowing his nose, and gave Smaug a stern look. “You are not going to wreck my kitchen.” He tried to stand up, but Smaug pushed him back down. Scowling, Bilbo pushed the dragon’s hand away and tried again; Smaug pushed him back down onto the bed and gave him a stern look. “Smaug, what are you doing?”

“You will not overexert yourself, thief.” Smaug commanded, crossing his arms over his chest. “Your feet will not touch this floor until _I_ allow it.”

Bilbo stiffened, “Oh?” and slid off the edge of the bed.

* * *

Bilbo had expected to be tossed onto the bed again, or something as equally humiliating, but the idea of being bundled up and tucked against his houseguest was beyond his imagination. Smaug had simply rolled him in a thinner sheet, barely leaving room for his arms to work their way out, and cradled him like a little child.

Sitting on the dragon man’s forearm, Bilbo had no choice but to cling to the towering figure or risk falling backwards out of his grasp. Unfortunately, the dragon seemed to have sheared off the seemingly endless curls just below his chin and Bilbo had only his broad shoulders for support.

“This is _not_ what I had in mind.” Bilbo grumbled, his chin resting comfortably on ever-warm skin. He coughed a little, sniffling, “If you could put me down-”

“I shant.” Smaug turned his head and bumped noses with Bilbo seriously, his golden eyes focusing right on the hobbit’s red face. “You are a liability to your own health, Thiefling, and I shall not remain alone in this mole hill simply because your frailty allowed you to pass.”

Bilbo paused, about to say something quick and snappy, but then his mind digested the dragon’s ill-worded defense for him.

_‘You’re a danger to your own health and I won’t live here alone because you grew worse and died.’_ Or, when he thought about it a little more: “ _I want you to get better. I don’t want you to die and leave me alone here._ ” After more and more thought, Bilbo was touched by the sentiment hidden in his words.

“Well, thief?” Smaug smirked, dumping the charred sausages and eggs into a bowl and leaving the pan on the table to singe the wood. “What do you say to _that_?”

Bilbo pushed off of the dragon’s chest a little, just enough to meet his eyes, and said: “Thank you… it’s been a long time since someone’s nursed _me_ back to health.”

Smaug exploded, dropping into his nest with Bilbo and their meal. “What a _preposterous_ notion! You foolish thief” –Smaug forced him to eat a bit of soft egg and, when Bilbo complained, he served the bit to him on some bread.- “ _I_ am a _dragon_ , Thiefling! I am _mighty_ , and _fierce_ , and-“ Smaug practically swallowed his bravado when Bilbo choked on a bite and, hovering anxiously, he waited for the hobbit to eat again to continue. “I play nursemaid to _no one._ ”


End file.
